
> m 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


Shelf 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 












A: - O 

.A; 




A A A 

A 

A 







481. 813r04.E .PIUEE lO CEI^'ES. 



By ALISON 




17 TO 27 VaNdeWater 3 t 

-j^ewYoi^k;:- 




The S^sidrt^ibmryT^^^t EditioD, IssuedTn -weekly,* By^bscnptiori'^SS"ipFannum, 


jLJiLna,i.v, tuuii-tri. jLiuitiuu, isssueu ii i-wecKiy, Dy suusunpuuu pt?r uuuum. 

yrighted 1885, by George Munro— Entered at the Post OfiQce at New York at second class rates— J une 8, 1885. 






‘M 



||||ia||g|Ba 2 =;r^ 












[C 

!^S 




r 

1 

1 


t 

r 



THE 


New York Fireside Companion. 


Esseilially a Paper for tie Hoaie Cirele. 


PURE, BRIGHT AND INTERESTING. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION numbers among its contributors the best of 
living fiction writers. 

Its Detective Stories are the most absorbing ever published, and its spe- 
^ cialties are features peculiar to this journal. 


A Fashion Article, embracing the newest modes, prices, etc., by a noted 
modiste, is printed in every number. 

The Answers to Correspondents contain reliable information on every con- 
ceivable subject. 


TERMS The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one year, 
on receipt of $3: two copies for $5. Getters-up of clubs can afterward add 
single copies at $2..50 each. We will be responsible for remittances sent in 
Registered Letters or by Post-office Money Orders. Postage free. Specimen 
copies sent free. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 


P. 0. Box 3751. 


17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


X 


House 


that J ack Built. 



By ALISON. - 



'GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, ' 

17 TO 27 Vandkwater Street. ^ ■ 

- . ■■■ 










A',- -- •:.* 'J •'€ -J \. ,.* ' X - 

^ .X '■^'■-•fy .‘c v\- V . f 

^ * 4 . . 




9 


/ .2r; 




/T - -• f A-. : >• . • 

' T-.* . _ - - 




« 

'•V 


>^- 


•V. -r 

. .r ■ • * ■ 







3 


^ « M -W 




1 : 


•k <• 




A4i3 H 




. 't 

- ? 


V*. 


, . x 

t 

<1 




•T .A i 


{. ^ \ 


^ ' 


■ i 


A w "fT^' 

7. T. *,/■ i * Jt 'ili- ■ ■ . - < 


4 ■ 




?->• rv,-»' 

.: i-J 


-/ 

y 


-1 




. .. .‘t. 4 . 


V 




I .. 




. V 


x-ar-^ 


/ 




<*■ 


> f^: 4 \ 

x\ ! 'i 




T- * f 
'•^' 


r^V 


‘ iJ ijl f; ^ of 





• > •- 

» 




-■ 1 
T? 

<• (? . 


T ? -: 


n- ^ 

• . ‘ a 
' / 


t 

I—*- <• 


. • , ^ 


■•■C* " 

■^.4 


'v vV W- ■ . «- •* 

' A ^ ^fta- ilftsfe aB0P vrA/iSv-ik^'/zi-cr' 

■' ’'^ •^' ■• ^- ■•■ 'i-' A " ■-7:^ 

< ^ -A- V^ ' 

• ■‘« " ‘ ^ ^ “3 r, . i .. . . . i ^ 

: • •■'#»-• ... » » ? • » C ♦ L ^ . iL \ ( I *4_\ ♦ - » » ■ . 


.> w:.' 


‘ t ?■ . ■ 


■ •. '• 


>•_ 


' , 

> v- • 




; ^ 7^' - . oSaj V 

I 

,bil:i. jim:j. 7** 
WWl'^' 'h>-- 


-3^ r, 

a' '-fc ..i- 


'•/> 




c- 

*. 

^ t 


.x- 

s ^ 


3 ’ ' '*^ 


-tvilcFiiCiiS C4- 4 • ^ 

* ; ’ > 

. ^ V ■ ^ .’ . 

'•'’' * '’V ‘ ' • - * ' • ; •’ -v . 

• ’ •-' 8 ■ -' f 

V _ A -. 


.'■'''» . ^ "■>. % ■ 

U. \i 


• * ^ * w* \' 


I. •. 


. t 

V ^ 




aU 




• i» 


r. ... 

\■'^ 'r 

If H 'I • < 

ArrAvi^ii'i 'rh’i.'i '■ 

■» -X 


4^' ' V ^ 

?»> .A‘. .' 


r 

•4 • ■ ' -i-^. 


^ < ^5= A V 


'■" 'f: 


1. ! • 1 ■;* - a * ' ^ X X' ''S^ f ^ f 

T • • '* * ^ "V ' 


- 3 -. 


I 


^ < 


^ . *• 


■\ . 

«' . 


ci 

• • ^. . * ■ 




: A 


«'■ 


.-j 


i » 



' . 

A 


'V 




•* . 

A ' 


yC - 


. *- 


f »• ‘ • • • y • * ' ‘ ' 

. «• i .•'^ . ' ' • ^ 

-% _ 4 ■ 

:j3i, £•#: oiaoi ii;otXJa 07 .>r;fti:?:D. tw. 

' ' ' ^ I - ' 

' ■ . . 2.» * . . ! 


A 


. ■ • ' ■' • ' ■ , - ■ .. - \ - - 

y" • - • •- -• N- ' - ■ '^ • =A.' . •- ^y “ 

r A A: ■ 

J ■^. _^- •;■*• '*- '• .^» ..* “V : i • - • * •■ I L ■■'■ '■- ••» ' *• y ■ ' 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


CHAPTER 1. 

sister is coming down to stay with me, Mrs. 

Irving.” 

The Eev. Austen Kendal announces the fact rather 
diffidently, though the Vicarage is his own and he has a 
perfect right to have his sister staying there as soon and 
for as long as he pleases. But he is the only man pres- 
ent in the long low school -room, through the open win- 
dows of which the June sunshine slants so gloriously. 
The Monday Sewing-Party has just risen and begun to 
fold away ^^blay ” calico shirts and blue check pinafores, 
and to hunt under tables and forms for missing thimbles 
and reels of cotton; and they are all masterful strong- 
minded women, with the exception of the widow lady to 
whom the vicar more particularly addresses himself. 

I am so glad,” she answers pleasantly, as she ties the 
crape strings of her bonnet under her firm round chin. 

I think you must often have felt lonely at the Vicarage. 
I hope she intends to make a long stay.” 

had only a few lines from her this morning to say 
that she was coming down by the early train to-morrow. 
I did not even know she was in England. The last 
time I heard from her she was staying with my aunt at 
Versailles.” 

She must be curious to see your home and surround- 
ings.” 

So she says. I believe she labors under the impres- 


4 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


sion that I never get a morsel of decently-cooked food^ 
and am in the habit of sewing on my own shirt -buttons 
with ^ housewife’ thread. But I rather think I owe the 
honor of her visit to the fact that Aunt Poigndesti^ is 
going to Marienbad, in Bohemia, to drink the waters 
there; and, as my sister hates Marienbad, it has suddenly 
dawned upon her that she has an only brother whom she 
has not seen for two long years.” 

Mrs. Irving laughs in her pleasant quiet way, preceding 
him through the school-room door, which he closes and 
locks behind them. The remainder of the sewing-party 
have filed out into the <:oad, and are waiting there to 
wish the vicar good-morning. It is a pretty road, shaded 
by a double row of elms and chestnuts in full summer 
foliage. To the left the smoke of the village can be seen 
rising from the hollow; to the right the small and very 
ancient church stands close to the roadside, with green 
graves clustering about it, up the slope of the hill to- 
ward Matching Wood. 

^MVhere’s Georgie this afternoon?” Mrs. Kyve inquires, 
as she shakes hands at parting with Mrs. Irving. 

Gone with Jack to make hay.” 

Hattie w^ould not come with me to-day because, she 
says, Georgie never attends the work-parties,” Mrs. Eyve 
says significantly. I think it is a pity you don’t make 
her come sometimes for the sake of example. You can 
hardly expect the other girls in the parish to attend if 
she doesn’t.” 

I am afraid Georgie would be productive of more 
idleness than her sewing would be worth,” Georgie’s 
mother confesses, shaking her head. 

But you shouldn’t let her idle. When a girl is old 
enough to be engaged to be married, she ought to be old 
enough to behave herself properly for one hour in the 
week at least.” 

I hope Georgie never behaves improperly,” Mrs. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


5 


Irving says placidly, the fact embodied in the first part of 
the sentence accounting very satisfactorily to her mind 
for the acrimony of the second. But you must remem- 
ber she is only seventeen, Mrs. Eyve, and can not be ex- 
pected to have as much sense as your Sophie and Hattie. 
It will all come in good time, I hope, but for the present 
I am satisfied to let the child enjoy herself like the birds 
and bees.” 

Mr. Kendal is waiting for her at the gate, and, having 
delivered this parting shot, she joins him, and they walk 
away together in the direction of the village. Mr. Kendal 
always walks home with Mrsf Irving after the sewing- 
party. 

‘^I think, of all the girls in the parish, Georgie Irving 
is the least suited to be a clergyman’s wife,” Mrs. Eyve 
says to Miss Perrott as they walk up the road. Such 
a flighty little thing as she is, and so young too! Fancy 
the management of the sewing-parties and schools and 
mothers’ meetings in the hands of a child of eighteen I” 

Mrs. Irving is a sensible woman,” Miss Perrott an- 
sw^ers cautiously. Mrs. Eyve would think nothing of 
turning round and telling everybody that she. Miss Per- 
rott, had been running down Georgie Irving all the way 
home from the sewing-bee.” ^‘I am sure Georgie has 
been well brought up, and, as her mother says, trouble 
and care will do more to balance her mind by and by than 
all the lecturing in the world.” 

Still I can’t think that she is the wife for the vicar, 
Mrs. Eyve repeats, who has two so much more suitable 
wives for the vicar at home. I wonder what this sister 
of his will belike? Been adopted by an aunt, I believe. 
I forget where I heard it now, but I did hear the Kendals 
had been left very badly off when their father died.” 

They called it badly off, but perhaps we shouldn’t,’^ 
Miss Perrott observes, dryly. ‘^1 dare say Miss Kendal 


6 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

spends as inucli in gloves as would dress your Sophie and' 
Hattie all the year round.’^ 

^^Yery likely/^ Mrs. Eyve allows, who, however, does 
not exactly like Miss Perrott’s tone this afternoon, and 
supposes it is because she did not send her any strawber- 
ries to preserve this year. Did you hear that all the 
Dobsons had typhoid fever? I never knew such a family 
as they are for bringing infection into the parish! I was 
half afraid to come to the sewing-party to-day; for they 
say the vicar is with them constantly; and one never knows 
how a thing spreads.” 

^^But I am sure Mr. Kendal takes every precaution.” 
am sure I hope he ^oes. I don’t intend to let my 
children go to Sunday-school while there is fever about; 
governess is very well able to teach them — much better 
than Georgie Irving! I never was more amused than 
when I heard the vicar had given her a class in Sunday- 
school!” 

Meantime the vicar and Georgie’s mother walk down 
the road into the village, under the green shadow of the 
wayside elms. 

I am so glad your sister is coming to stay with you, 
Mr. Kendal.” 

am glad too — for some reasons,” the vicar answers, 
soberly. 

She and Georgie will have an opportunity of becom- 
ing acquainted with each other.” 

I fancy she is coming down to Matching for no other 
purpose,” he says, smiling. ^^If it were not that she is 
naturally anxious to see Georgie, I should be puzzled for 
a motive for her visit. She is not a girl to bury herself 
alive in a place like this for nothing.” 

I hope she will like Georgie.” 

‘‘1 am not anxious on that score. Nobody could help 
liking Georgie.” 

Is it long since you have seen your sister?” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


7 


is nearly two years. She was in London when I 
got my first curacy there. But she has been with my 
aunt in Holland and at Versailles. Lady Poigndestre is 
the most fidgety old woman in the world, I think — she 
never spends more than six months in any one place. . I 
should not be any day surprised to hear that she had 
taken a summer residence at the Horth Pole.^’ 

The village lies in a hollow, the road dipping suddenly 
just at the blacksmith’s forge. It is a sleepy old village, 
picturesque and straggling, with thatched cottages stand- 
ing for the most part with their gables to the street, and 
an old gray bridge crossing the river at the bottom of the 
valley, close to the Somerses’ great tall mill. 

(leorgie must come to the next work-party,” Mrs. 
Irving says, as they pass through the sunny village street. 

It won’t do to have them say she sets a bad example to 
the other girls in the parish.” 

^‘Let them say what they please,” the vicar answers, 
warmly— more courageous out of the sewing-party’s com- 
pany than in it. Georgie shall never be dictated to by 
any of them.” 

‘‘Do you think Miss Kendal will take any interest in 
parish- work?” 

“Lenore?” the vicar says, shrugging his shoulders. 
“ Lenore would feel about as much at home in parish- 
work as a mermaid in a pair of boots!” 

They are crossing the gray bridge now. Mrs. Irving 
looks down at some women washing clothes in the river, 
two or three children paddling round them barefoot in the 
bright, dimpling water. She knows them all by name — 
for Mrs. Irving is the “notable ” woman of the neighbor- 
hood; it is to her everybody hurries for a cure for a burn, 
or a syrup for a cough, or a pattern for a shirt, or an out- 
fit for a girl going to service, or a sheet wherein to bury 
the dead. She is just thinking now that Mrs. Davy has 
never come up to the farm for the “sitting ” of ducks^ 


S THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

eggs she promised her; but she is too far off to call to her, 
^ind the river makes a great noise here over the falls. 

^^Then I am afraid Miss Kendal will find Matching 
•Very dull.’’ 

dare say she will — after awhile. But she is coming 
to Matching of her own free will. If she finds it as dull 
as ditch-water, she can not turn round and say I invited 
her down,” the vicar says, shrugging his shoulders. 

We must do our best to prevent such a climax as that! 
Matching is a pretty place, and in summer the girls al- 
ways manage to amuse themselves. It was only yesterday 
I heard Georgie say the days were not half long enough 
for all the joy she could put into them — if each were three 
times as long, she could fill them just as full!” 

I hope she will say so always,” Austen Kendal ob- 
serves, with a tender smile in the deeply-set dark eyes. 

Very few can feel like that after their first childhood. 
But Georgie reminds me of Owen Meredith’s lines — 

' Some happy souls there are that wear their nature lightly; these 
rejoice 

The world by living, and receive from all men more than what 
they give. 

One handful of their buoyant chaff exceeds our hoards of care- 
ful grain, 

Because their love breaks through their laugh, while ours is 
fraught with tender pain. 

The world that knows itself too sad is proud to keep some nat- 
ures glad.’ ” 

And yet I think Georgie is capable of deep feeling,” 
Georgie’s mother says, not half pleased with the quotation. 

I think so too. She 

‘ Hath a grace in being gay even mournful souls approve, 

For the root of some grave, earnest thought is understruck so 
rightly 

As to justify the foliage and the waving flowers above.’ ” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


9 


‘^Thafc is more like Georgie/^ Mrs. Irving smiles, in- 
dulgently. And here she comes to meet us, with Jack 
and May Somers! My darling, how she will run when 
she catches sight of us! There — she sees us now!’’ 

If I am going to rob you of a daughter, I think Jack 
has it in his mind to make good the loss,” Kendal ob- 
serves, looking at the couple coming along sedately in the 
wake of the flying figure in white. 

“ Oh, that is a very old story!” Mrs. Irving says, who 
can see nothing but the nymph-like figure. 

“You don’t think it will come to anything?” 

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Irving answers gravely — mother- 
like, she can not bear to think of any other woman ^king 
her place in her son’s heart. “ It has been going on since 
they were children; and I think those childish love-affairs 
generally die a natural death.” 

“You wouldn’t care for the alliance then?” 

“Jack might do worse,” Jack’s mother says, though 
her fair face clouds a little; “May Somers is a dear good 
girl, and we are all very fond of her. But then I think 
he might do better. Kone of the Irvings were ever in 
trade.” 

“ I don’t think Jack is ambitious, is he?” 

“ I am ambitious for him ” — with a smiling shake of 
her head. “May is very pretty and very good; but what 
mother will ever think any girl quite pretty enough and 
quite good enough for her only son?” 

“I suppose not,” the vicar allows. 

But he is not thinking of Jack now. He is looking at 
a girl with an innocent sweet face, faint surprised eye- 
brows, and soft eyes of clearest hazel, who has rushed 
up and seized her mother by both hands, her straw hat 
awry, her soft hair falling in dusky rings over her tem- 
ples, the dimples showing in both her rose-flushed 
cheeks. 

“ My darling child, why do you run so fast?’^ 


10 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

Because I wanted to reach you as soon as I could!” 
the young voice pants out gayly. 

But what would Mrs. Kyve say if she could see you?” 
— with a laughing glance at the vicar. 

She would call me frivolous!” Georgie laughs, shrug- 
ging her slim shoulders. 

And with reason, I am afraid.” 

Mother, do you want me to be like Sophie Eyve?” 

Mrs. Irving shakes her head reprovingly; but she can 
not say she wishes her little daughter to be like Sophie 
Eyve. It would be hard to wish that sweet face and 
nymph-like figure anything but what they are. 

‘‘We were making hay. May and I,” Georgie goes on, 
while her mother sets her hat straight, with a loving look 
into the clear eyes. “ It was glorious in the meadow, 
and Jack said we made ourselves quite useful; but Eover 
would scatter the hay as fast as I raked it up.” 

“ I think you encouraged him, Georgie,” May Somers 
smiles demurely. 

She has come up with her companion, a tall broad- 
shouldered young man, very like his mother, with the 
same gray eyes and more than the same look of deter- 
mination about the mouth and chin. 

^‘Had you a large sewing-party to-day?” Georgie asks, 
as. Jack taking his mother’s arm, she and the Vicar are 
left to follow at their own sweet will. 

“ The usual people, I think.” 

“And I suppose they did a great deal of work?” 

I suppose they did the usual amount. I could not 
judge.” 

“Did you want me to go, Austen?” the girl asks, 
something in his manner making her raise the innocent 
clear eyes to his face inquiringly. 

Not unless you liked, dear.” 

“I suppose I ought to have liked; but they are such a 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


11 


set of stupid old fogies— except mother; and it was so 
pleasant out in the meadow in the hay!” 

Much pleasanter than in the school-house, I can very 
well believe.” 

‘‘I will go next Monday, Austen.” 

My dear child, don’t imagine I wish to influence you 
one way or the other.” 

But, if you could shut yourself up there to read to them, 
I don’t see why I should not shut myself up to sew.” 

^^It depends entirely upon how you look at it. I knew 
it was my duty to be there.” 

I suppose it was mine too” — with a short sigh; 

but I don’t care for those missionary books you read; 
and I hate Mrs. Eyve!” 

My dear Georgie, do you think I particularly affect 
Mrs. Eyve?” 

But you are so good,” the girl says, not looking at 
him however, but straight before her at Jack and his 
mother, walking up the hill with May Somers. 

Good I” Kendal echoes, smiling. Georgie, I have a 
piece of news for you.” 

What is it?” 

Guess!” he says, enjoying the puzzled look in the wide 
hazel eyes. 

Mrs. Eyve is sending away her new governess already.” 

^^Ko; guess again. It is nothing about the parish.” 

^‘Then I’ll give it up.” 

‘^My sister is coming down to Matching to-morrow.” 

Not really?” 

^^Eeally and truly.” 

^‘ 1 — I wonder what she will think of me, and — and of 
us all,” Georgie says, gravely, her cheeks losing a shade 
of their bright color. 

She can think only one thing of you, dear,” the vicar 
says, with a look which softens the keen, plain, intellect- 
ual face almost past recognition. 


12 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


‘‘But everybody won’t see me with your eyes and moth- 
er’s; and I am afraid of Lenore.” 

“ Do not be afraid of her — that is just what would 
make you seem stiff and cold, and unlike yourself. You 
have only to be Georgie, ai>d it will be all right.” 

“She is so grand, this sister of yours. But, if you 
could care for me, Austen — ” 

“As I do, Georgie, with all my heart and strength.” 

“I am glad she is coming for some reasons,” Georgie 
says, the trouble vanishing in a very full, bright smile. 
“ I have wanted to see her awfully ever since — this long 
time.” 

“ And she has wanted to see you. And don’t you think 
I want to show her my wife?” 

Georgie twists the pearl ring on the third finger of her 
left hand round and round a little nervously. 

‘^She won’t think life at Matching very lively, will 
she?” 

Oh, Lenore has plenty of resources in herself! She 
draws and paints, and carves in wood, and she reads 
a great deal, if she can find a book she liKes.” 

“ Mother will put up the new netted curtains in 
the parlor now,” Georgie laughs. “She declared yes- 
terday they were for Jack’s house; but I think she’ll 
have time enough to net another pair before Jack’s house 
is built.” 

“ Is Jack going to build a house?” 

“Well, you know mother has been mistress at Match- 
ing Farm so long. Jack says nobody shall ever turn her 
out, or be mistress there as long as she lives; but, as the 
future Mrs. Jack mightn’t like to live there in those cir- 
cumstances, he is going to build a house for himself 
somewhere up near the dairy farm. There are very pretty 
sites for a house there under the wood.” 

“And we could get there in five minutes from the 
Vicarage over the top of Matching Hill.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


13 


Yes; and mother could still see Jack every day.’^ 

^^And when is the new house to be begun?’^ the vicar 
asks, smiling at Georgie’s naive admission. 

As soon as Jack is engaged, I suppose,” Georgie an- 
swers, laughing. 

You can laugh at the idea now; but I remember when 
it used to make you cry to think that Jack should ever be 
fonder of any girl than he is of you.” 

And how you used to tease me about it! But that 
was before — ” 

You promised to marry me,” Austen Kendal finishes 
for her. ‘‘You could not be such a dog in the manager 
as. to wish to keep Jack a bachelor now!” 

“Only for mother’s sake.” 

“ But you say he will still see her every day.” 

“ Oh, yes; Jack wouldn’t have it any other way! I 
never knew a boy so fond of his mother as Jack is — and 
he admires her so much! He says he never saw a girl 
whom he could think one-quarter as pretty as mother is 
now.” 

“ Not even May Somers?” 

“ I wish he would marry May,” Georgie says gravely. 
“ I would rather he married her than any girl I know. 
And I think she cares for him.” 

I never knew you had any match-making propensities 
before, Miss Irving.” 

“ Only for Jack,” the girl smiles, looking at the stal- 
wart figure in homespun jacket and knickerbockers, and 
ribbed stockings of his mother’s knitting. “ I don’t think 
I care very much who marries anybody else.” 

They have reached the farm gate by this time, the road 
always turning round the foot of Matching Hill. The 
gate is very wide and low, and leads into a broad graveled 
ride or drive with a double row of great old trees on each 
side, divided from the drive by a space of smooth green 


14 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


turf. It is very short, and the house stretches entirely 
across the upper end, and is plainly visible from the road. 
It is a mere farm-house of one story, deeply thatched, 
with windows opening to the ground and a wide cool 
porch smothered in monthly roses. 

Mrs. Johnstone has made some ^ singing hinnies ’ 
for tea,’^ Georgie announces, as they all walk abreast up 
the drive. Have you ever eaten ^singing hinnies,’ 
Austen ?” 

Hot under that name, certainly.” 

^^Then I am glad we are to have them this evening. 
Mrs. Johnstone says they don’t know how to make them 
anywhere but in the North — she’s North-country, you 
know. Whenever she wants to bribe me to do anything 
for her, she promises me ^singing hinnies’ for tea.” 

Mrs. Irving goes away to see her calves fed; and, while 
the girls get tea ready, the two young men stroll out 
through the glass door at the back of the wide low 
shadowy hall into the quaint old-fashioned garden at the 
back of the house, smoking and talking as they do at 
least five evenings out of the seven — for Austen Kendal 
and Jack Irving were friends long before Kendal saw fit 
to fall in love with Irving’s pretty sister, or Georgie 
promised to marry him just because Jack would not hear 
of her refusing his friend. 

But she likes Austen Kendal now for his own sake, 
though Jack is her lean ideal of everything handsome 
and heroic; and nobody could well be more unlike Jack 
than the sallow student, with his lank limbs and stoop- 
ing shoulders, closely shaven face, and heavy black hair 
falling in one great wave across his forehead, and the 
deep dark eyes which seem all the deeper and darker from 
the spectacles which he is obliged to wear over them. Jack 
is like a young Greek athlete, and moves with the easy 
grace which almost always accompanies great strength; 
his eyes are gray, his features good, like his mother’s. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 15 

and his expression is like hers, frank and winning, and 
just a shade too resolute — till he smiles. 

So I hear you are going to build a house for your- 
self, Jack?’’ 

Who told you that?” Jack asks, laughing. Georgie, 
for a ducat!” 

‘'^Oh, I heard it! It reminds me of the School Board 
version of ^ The House that Jack Built.’ ^ This is the 
domiciliary edifice . erected by John ’ Do you re- 

member?” 

They are standing near the glass door, waiting for 
Georgie to call them in to tea. The bees are humming, 
in the mignonette under the parlor window, the air is 
full of the fragrance of stock and sweet-pea and other 
sweet old-fashioned fiowers. From the farm-yard beyond 
the garden — the high wall of which is covered with 
ripening plums and peaches, and a close curtain of scarlet 
japonica — they can hear the lowing of the cattle and the 
peaceful clucking of hens and gobble of turkeys, very 
faint and far off on the calm evening air. 

I wish you would begin building operations at once. 
Jack. If I have a passion for anything, it is for bricks 
and mortar. It always had and always will have a curi- 
ous kind of fascination for me, to see masons and car- 
penters at work.” 

I must find a mistress for the house first,” Jack says, 
knocking the ashes out of his pipe; and he begins to 
hum — 

i 

‘ Where and how shall I earliest meet her? 

What are the words that she first will say? 

By what name shall I learn to greet her? 

I know not now— it will come some day ” 

I 

'^^The mother will -^grudge you sair’ when that day 
comes, Jack!” 

It won’t come yet awhile,” Jaek says, stroking his 


16 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

blonde mnstache. I never saw the girl yet I should care 
to make Mrs. Jack Irving.’’ 

Austen Kendal looks at him with the loving admi- 
ration at which Georgie often laughs. 

I think you are quite right in your determination 
never to set any one over her head in the old place,” the 
vicar remarks at last, glancing up at the long, low house 
with its deep eaves and quaint, deep casement windows. 

I should never do it,” Jack answers, gravely. She 
came to this house a bride, and her children were born in 
it, and died in it — two of them. And my father died in 
it — in that room beside the porch; and she shall die in it 
— though Heaven grant,” he adds, reverently, ^‘that day 
may be a long way off from us all!” 


CHAPTER II. 

At about three o’clock on the following afternoon. Jack: 
Irving rides up to the Vicarage, fastens his bridle to the 
gate, and walks in. The glass door in the little wainscoted 
hall stands ajar. Jack pushes it open, and crosses the 
hall, fully expecting to find the vicar poring over some of 
his musty books in the sitting-room, since he did not find 
him delving in the garden among his potatoes and cab- 
bages, or pacing, with head bent and hands behind him, 
up and down the narrow path between his’ currant and 
gooseberry bushes. 

But the vicar is not in the sitting-room. Who is in 
the sitting-room? Jack wonders, pausing at the door 
astonished. A girl in a white gown, with a few overblown 
pink roses fastened into it — a girl with long, lithe limbs 
and a small fiaxen head, standing on the hearth-rug with 
her hands clasped behind her in a simple, unconsidered 
attitude, apparently studying his own photograph as it. 
hangs over the low, wooden mantel* piece. She had not; 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 17 

turned her bead at the sound of his foot in the hall; but, 
when he comes to a standstill on the threshold, she turns, 
and, straightening herself, opens her great brown eyes and 
waits for him to speak. 

— I beg your pardon,” Jack stammers, snatching off 
his hat. I thought I should find Kendal here; but it 
is no matter. I — I can call again.” 

You need not go away. Mr. Kendal is in the church 
— I will send for him if you will wait a few minutes.” 

Oh, don’t mind; I will go to him, if you will allow 
me!” Jack exclaims, wondering at the same time who on 
earth this girl can be who seems so much at home in Ken- 
dal’s house. 

I think you are Mr. Irving?” she says, smiling at his 
bewilderment. I should recognize you, I have been 
studying your photograph so minutely. I am Aus- 
ten’s sister, and I believe you are one of his greatest 
friends.” 

She holds out her hand with careless gracious courtesy,^ 
and Jack takes it, hastily thrusting his riding-whip into 
his left hand, and thinking all the time what a lucky man 
Austen is to have such a sister — she seems more like some 
beautiful young goddess than the sister of any mortal 
man! 

I wanted to speak to Kendal about those larches,” 
he says hurriedly. But, if he is occupied — ” 

He has gone out to the church only to practice some 
new chants.” 

About a hundred of my young larches were blown 
down in the spring — that gale we had in March, you may 
remember,” he goes on, in a kind of explanatory way. 

They are of no earthly use to me — in fact, they are all 
lying at this moment just where they fell. But they are 
going to do something to the roof of the church, and want 
some scaffolding, and I told Kendal he could have as 
many of them as he cared to send for; or I’ll have them 


18 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


sent down, if he can tell me how many he may be likely to 
want.” 

I am going out to the church. If you will come 
with me, I think we shall be very likely to find him in the 
organ-loft.” 

They go out together into the heavenly June atmos- 
phere, and walk side by side between the currant and 
gooseberry bushes, to the little gate leading into the grave- 
yard at the back of the church. 

‘^Austen never told me you were coming,” Jack says, 
while her white gown brushes the box border, and the 
sun doubles his own warmth ” against her exquisite 
face and dainty ruffled golden head. 

He knew it himself only yesterday morning.” 

But he was with us yesterday evening. I wonder he 
never mentioned it then,” Jack says, who already thinks 
the event at least as worthy of announcement as the ap- 
pearance of the most splendid comet that ever swept 
across the sky. 

I suppose he spends most of his evenings at Matching 
Farm?” Miss Kendal says, with just the faintest flicker of 
a smile on her beautiful moutht 

^TMost of them, indeed. 

I am so anxious to see your sister, Mi% Irving.” 

^^And I am sure Georgie will be equally anxious to see 
you,” Jack says, wondering how his simple little sister 
will bear the crucial test of those calm, cold, perfectly 
beautiful eyes. 

feel as if I knew her already,” Miss Kendal says, 
smiling; Austen has described her to m© so often in 
his letters; and then I have seen her photograph.” 

Georgie makes a bad photograph — at least, it is not a 
bit like herself.” 

So I should have fancied. But yours is very good.” 

Jack makes a good photograph. That one at the Vic- 
arage is particularly good — a full-length cabinet, in rid- 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


19 


iiig-dress, bat and whip in hand. Miss Kendal might 
easily have recognized the original, since he wears not 
only the same coat, but the same light cravat and horse- 
shoe pin. 

But I think Mrs. Irving must be one of the most de- 
lightful women in the world,” Miss Kendal goes on, who 
seems in a mood to be pleased with everything this after- 
noon. I think I am quite as anxious to see her as Aus- 
ten’s I fancy you must be rather like her, Mr. 

Irving, from Austen’s description; he has described her 
to me also, over and over again.” 

^^You are sure to like my mother — everybody does,” 
Jack answers, confidently. don’t think myself there’s 
anybody like her; but then I’m prejudiced. The people 
in the Tillage think more of her opinion about a burn or 
a scald than the doctor’s — indeed, I believe they would 
rather have a sermon from her — the sort she preaches — 
than from Kendal himself!” 

''I shouldn’t be surprised. What kind of sermons does 
Austen preach?” 

Oh, very good sermons! But then my mother’s are 
very practical, and always wind up with something tangi- 
ble,” Jack laughs. Indeed I think she is mother to the 
whole parish. If I were inclined to be jealous, I shouldn’t 
like it — but I’m not.” 

Are you not?” Miss Kendal asks, smiling. 

But it is scarcely a question, for as she speaks she stops 
to gather a sprig or two of sweet-pea — a pink-and- white 
blossom and a purple-and-blue one — -without waiting for 
an answer. And Jack watches her, and wonders at the 
pleasure it gives him to watch her, and at the curious 
grace with which she does such a conventional thing as 
gathering two morsels of sweet-pea. 

^^I suppose you have not seen much of Matching yet?” 
he says, at last. 


20 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


^‘Nothing but the church and the Vicarage; I arrived 
only about three hours ago.” 

And what do you think of them?” 

Picturesque,” she says, laughing, but very small 
and ancient and musty-smelling, both of them. The one 
redeeming point of both is the ivy in which they are 
smothered, though Austen tells me it is the ivy which 
makes them so damp. It certainly makes them very 
dark.” 

was afraid Kendal would find Matching very dull 
when first he came down,” Jack says, glancing at the little 
study windovv close to which they were standing— a man 
like him, you know, who goes in for scientific discovery, 
and all that kind of thing.” 

^^But that is just it. He can study here as much as 
he pleases — I am sure he couldn’t have found a better 
place for undisturbed meditation than this very garden — 
no faintest echo from the madding crowd could ever reach 
him here!” 

So he said,” Jack answers, thinking how like her 
brother she sometimes expresses herself, though so utterly 
unlike him in face and manner. And how he does pore 
over those musty old books!. It is sometimes as much as 
I can do to drag him out into the fields for a breath of 
fresh air!” 

^^Kow?” Miss Kendal asks, with an indescribable in- 
tonation. 

Oh, well, he’s not so bad now!” Jack allows, laugh- 
ing. He has come out of his shell a little. I think it 
was my mother who first succeeded in persuading him 
that all work and no play would end by making him a 
very dull boy.” 

^^I thought it was Georgie!” Miss Kendal says, with 
an amused look. 

Indeed it was not; he fell in love with my mother 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 21 

long before be fell in love with Georgie— everybody falls 
in love with my mother.” 

can fancy my brother falling in love with Georgie 
easily enough,” Miss Kendal observes, looking at her 
sweet-pea; ^^but that he should take the fancy of a girl 
like her has puzzled me ever since he told me of his en- 
gagement. They seem to be the very opposite of each 
other in everything.” 

think the wonder is all the other way!” 

Oh, do you? Of course I know Austen’s good quali- 
ties, and all that; but I should never have imagined a 
pretty young girl would fall in love with him, and still 
less that he would come down out of the clouds suffi- 
ciently to see whether she was pretty or not, and least of 
all that he would ever screw up his courage to the point 
of proposing for her!” 

I don’t think you half appreciate your brother!” Jack 
says, looking at the girl’s exquisite profile as she stands' 
beside him, tall and straight in her long white gown. 
^^It is my opinion that there isn’t a girl in the world 
good enough for him, and so I tell Georgie every day of 
her life!” 

Brothers are always surprised when any other man 
wants to marry their sisters, 1 think,” Miss Kendal ob- 
serves calmly. Is that your horse, Mr. Irving? I am 
so fond of horses — I must go and speak to him for a 
minute.” 

She leans over the low wooden gate and pats the warm 
neck, where the veins stand out like net-work under the 
satiny skin, and praises and strokes him, till Jack almost 
wishes he could change places with the creature who is 
so happy as to be caressed by that pearly hand, and to 
have such delicious flattery poured into his ears by those 
sweet red lips. 

^^Do you ride?” he asks, at last. 

Yes — when I can get a mount.” 


22 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

‘‘ Lohengrin has never carried a lady/’ Jack says 
eagerly, he could be easily trained to it — I could 

train him myself in three or four days. Georgie hasn’t 
nerve enough to ride a donkey, or I should have put her 
on him long ago; he is just the horse for a lady — plenty 
of spirit, but as quiet as a lamb.” 

I am not very cowardly on horseback,” Miss Kendal 
tells him, smiling; and I should like to ride Lohengrin 
very much.” 

‘^Then I shall try him with my mother’s old riding- 
skirt this very evening!” Jack exclaims delightedly. Yon 
won’t be going away for some days, will you? I shouldn’t 
like to put you on him till he had grown accustomed to 
the fluttering of the habit — I know it will frighten him a 
little at first.” 

I shall certainly not be going away for some days,” 
Miss Kendal says, Avith an odd smile — ^^nor for some 
weeks probably — unless Austen turns me out!” 

am so glad! But I am afraid you will soon find 
Matching dull — it is a stupid dead-and-alive old place, 
unless one has plenty to do.” 

Lohengrin will amuse me,” the girl smiles, stroking 
the animal’s velvet nose Avith a fearlessness which takes 
Jack’s heart by storm. 

She does not say that Lohengrin’s handsome master 
may also help to render the dullness of Matching less in- 
tolerable to her, but probably she thinks it as she stands 
beside him in the June sunshine — sunshine Avhich shows 
her complexion to be absolutely perfect, which turns her 
ruffled fair hair to gold, which brings strange golden 
flashes out of the brown depths of her velvet eyes. 

suppose you have not many neighbors— except the 
villagers?” she says, looking down the quiet elm-shaded 
road, her elbow on the low wooden gate and her chin in 
her hand. 

Kone nearer than Peacock Hall.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 23 

And who lives at Peacock Hall?” 

Old Lady Giles lives there, and her daughters. And 
we have the Somerses — I forgot them.” 

They are the people who have the mill?” 

^^Yes.” 

And you know them?” 

^‘^Ye have known them all our lives.” 

I knew Austen was acquainted with them; but then, 
a clergyman must know all his parishioners. Still I did 
not suppose Mrs. Irving would care to visit them.” 

Visit them! Why, they are in and out of our house 
every day, and Georgie spends half her time at the mill!” 

^^But they are in trade!” 

And we are farmers! There is not much to choose 
between us!” 

I think there is a great deal to choose. I wonder 
what Aunt Poigndestre would have said if Austen had 
written to tell us that he was going to marry a girl whose 
father owned a woolen mill!” 

^^What nonsense!” Jack exclaims, bluntly. ^^As if 
everybody wasn’t in trade now, directly or indirectly!” 

^^The Kendals were never in trade. We never even 
had a doctor in our family,” Miss Kendal says, calmly. 

One of the Kendals married a doctor once, but Aunt 
Poigndestre never called upon her, though they lived for 
a year in the same square.” 

‘‘1 can’t understand that kind of pride, I must con- 
fess,” 

“^^Ko, perhaps you can not,” Miss Kendal allows, look- 
ing into the green twilight under the road-side elms. 

The shadows of the leaves flicker down on to her bare 
head, on to her white gown, on to the rounded arm 
from which the sleeve has fallen away as she rests her 
elbow on the gate. Behind her — every close-fltting leaf 
shining greenly — rises the ivy-smothered gable of the 
Vicarage, quaint background, or the exquisite white fig- 


24 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. " 

ure; the drowsy air is full of the humming of bees and 
the faint, languid perfume of mignonette. 

Are you very proud, Miss Kendal?’^ 

‘^ISTot ^too proud to care from whence I came,^ Mr, 
Irving.^’ 

And you consider it justifiable — that kind of pride?’’ 
was reared in that school, you know,” she answers 
carelessly, raising her right hand to look at her rustic 
bouquet — she has added a sprig of rosemary to the sweet- 
pea. We are very poor, we Kendals — at least, Austen 
and I are poor. But I should not care to know the Som- 
erses, I fancy, if I met them in Kegent Street or in the 
Eow.” 

Jack does not quite like Miss Kendal’s tone, though 
she may intend to convey the fact that neither she nor her 
people are averse to the present matrimonial arrangement. 
Still to run down the Irvings’ friends is to run them down 
indirectly, and Jack is very proud in his own quiet easy- 
going way. 

^^Nevertheless the people at the mill are our most inti- 
mate friends,” he says sturdily. Old Somers is as hon- 
orable a man and as true a gentleman as any earl in the 
land, and was my poor father’s stanchest friend, as well as 
his nearest neighbor; and May is my sister’s ^chum.’” 

^^And yours?” Miss Kendal inquires, with a slight 
scornful raising of her short upper lip. 
am very fond of May.” 

Very fond?” 

Oh, you won’t catch me out like that!” Jack laughs, 
shrugging his shoulders. 

And Miss Kendal wonders why he colors so ingenuous- 
ly, or rather does not wonder at it, having already made 
up her mind that the Kendal alliance is not the only one 
on the tapis in the Irving 'family. 

Suppose we continue our search for Austen?” she 
suggests, removing her arm from the gate with some- 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


25 


thing very like a yawn. If this young man belongs to 
Miss May Somers, she — Lenore Kendal — is not going to 
waste her time in flirting with him — that is, if he belongs 
to her so securely as to make it impossible to shake his 
allegiance. 

I believe my brother spends hours at the organ some- 
times,’’ she says, as Jack steps forward to open the little 
iron gate into the church-yard. And do you know, I 
fancy the air of this place does not agree with him very 
well. I thought him looking pale and thin.” 

He works too hard,” Irving answers quickly. We 
have all noticed how thin he has grown. Indeed for the 
last week or two my mother has insisted upon his taking 
a glass of good port every day.” 

I think she always expects to see a ^ happy lover ’ 
looking particularly hale and hearty,” Miss Kendal ob- 
serves, in her calm, half-amused, half-scornful way. 

Shakespeare didn’t,” .Jack says, laughing. 

Oh, but nous avons change tout cela the girl smiles, 
shrugging her pretty shoulders as she passes before him 
through the gate. 

They walk together slowly up the mossy path between 
the solemn hillocks, and Lenore Kendal, holding up her 
white gown from contact with the long damp grasses, 
looks from one moss-grown headstone to another careless- 
ly, and so makes herself acquainted with at least the two 
most prevalent names in the parish. 

Are all the living either Davys or Hornes as well as 
all the dead?” she inquires naively. ^‘Austen never 
mentioned the fact of his having but two families in his 
parish; but this looks very like it. And I suppose every 
one of these dead-and-gone Hornes and Davys was born 
and lived and died at Matching? ^ Fancy what a fate!” 

Most of the Irvings have lived and died at Match- 
ing,” Jack answers gravely. 

^^And been buried here?” 


26 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

Yes — in the vault underneath the church.” 

And the whole great beautiful world beyond Match- 
ing might as well never have been, so far as they were 
concerned!” 

Except what they read about it in the daily papers,” 
Jack confesses. 

And Kome might never have been built, Paris might 
be at the bottom of the Seine, Venice in the moon, for 
all they know or cared I History was a sealed book to 
them; all the literature of the world might as well never 
have been written! Painting, poetry, sculpture — I sup- 
230se such things were a dead letter to them — as utterly 
unknown as the every-day life of the inhabitants of Sirius 
is to us denizens of this insignificant orb which we call 
^ the world ^!” 

I think it is very likely.” 

I would as soon never be born as go through exist- 
ence like that,” Miss Kendal says, with a very scornful 
shrug of her graceful square slioulders. 

I don’t know,” Jack says, a little nettled. They 
lived good and worthy lives, and died in their beds re- 
spectably and piously. And in the long run I doubt if 
they weren’t just as well off as the greatest travelers and 
most scientific men that ever overreached themselves in 
trying to get 

' Down to the depths of the earth or up to the sky.’ ” 

^^But to them life must have been like a person walk- 
ing blindfold through the most magnificent scenery in the 
Alps. There were the blue abysses, the rainbow cataracts, 
the snow-peaks towering into the sky; but they could not 
see them — for them they were not — to them 

“ ‘ The Tweed were as poor as the Amazon, 

That for all the years it has rolled 
Can tell but how fair was the morning red, 

How sweet the morning gold.’ ” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 27 

That may be/’ Jack answers bluntly, looking at the 
old gray church with its mantle of gray-green ivy; but 
they were good men and women, and did their duty in 
the state of life to which it had pleased God to call them. 
And I doubt if many of your philosophers could say as 
much as that!” 

‘^1 don’t know that I should care particularly to live 
to a good old age, and die piously and respectably in my 
bed,” Miss Kendal says musingly. Does it matter much 
whether one’s life is long or short, or how one dies, when 
death must come at last?” 

‘^Kot if ended there perhaps.” 

^'Ko — not if it ended there.” 

They are silent for a moment or two, and then, with 
one of the sudden changes of mood which have begun to 
puzzle Jack already. Miss Kendal begins to laugh. 

‘‘You almost persuade me that it is folly to be wise, 
Mr. Irving.” 

“If ignorance is bliss, I should say it was.” 

“But are you happy in your ignorance?” 

“ Are you the happier for your knowledge, Miss Ken- 
dal?” 

“Happy?” she echoes, with an indescribable intonation. 

But she does not answer the question further than this, 
and Jack wonders why this girl fills his mind with a vague 
unrest even while she charms him as no woman has ever 
charmed him before — wonders too what has brought her 
down to this sleepy old village — she who professes to care 
for nothing but excitement and the hearing or seeing of 
some new thing. If he had only known what had brought 
her down, as they walked round in the shadow to the door 
of the hoary little church! It would not have darkened 
the glory of the June day to him then, or made the at' 
mosphere less heavenly or the sky less blue; but after- 
ward — Ah, poor Jack! 

They find the vicar in the organ-loft, in an ecstasy over 


28 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


an Agnus Dei by some old composer, which he has dis- 
covered among the musty manuscript music with which 
the whole place is strewn thick as autumn leaves in Val- 
lambrosa.” But they drag him perforce into the outer 
air, and his sister scolds him laughingly for remaining 
shut up in those moldy precincts till his face is as white as 
the face of a ghost. 

have felt weary all day,” he says, walking back with 
them through the glorious sunshine, which seems to daz- 
zle him a little, and my head aches. I hope Fm not in 
for the Dobsons’ fever.” 

But they scout the idea; and when they reach the house 
Miss Kendal goes to the little store-room inside the parlor, 
and comes back carrying the glass of wine which Mrs. 
Irving has prescribed for him more than three weeks 
ago.” 

We shall have dinner in a few minutes,” she says? 
standing by his side while he drinks it. Do you know, 
I think you starve yourself, Austen; Mrs. Dodd tells me 
you don’t eat enough to support a fly!” 

‘^That is only lately,” Kendal answers, smiling. 
think the heat of the weather has taken away my appe- 
tite. But won’t you offer Jack some refreshment too?” 

Miss Kendall takes the hint with graceful readiness; 
and, Lohengrin having been housed in the Vicarage sta- 
ble, his master flnds himself dining on chicken and salad 
and strawberry tart — they might have been nectar and 
ambrosia for anything he could tell — in company with a 
beautiful young goddess in a limp white gown with a few 
overblown fawn* pink roses drooping at her throat, and a 
light emanating from her eyes which seems to him to fill 
the whole tiny, ivy-shadowed room with a kind of lambent 
glory, soft yet dazzling, like the eyes of some wild creat- 
ure in the dark. 

Lenore Kendal has a dangerous voice, and she knows 
how to make every intonation of it act like a spell on her 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


29 


listeners; and to-day she either thinks it incumbent on 
her, as hostess, to amuse her guest, or else she wishes to 
make trial of her fascinations on this young man, who 
adds to his good looks and rather piquant simplicity and 
independence of character the further recommendation of 
belonging to another girl, such zest being necessary to 
give Miss Kendal, already sated by too easy conquests, in- 
terest enough in the trial to make it amusing — at least to 
herself. So she talks and smiles, and even favors them 
with the cold, sweet music of her laugh; and Jack can 
scarcely eat his dinner for looking at her, and rises up 
from the table as much in love as it is possible for a man 
to be with a girl of whose existence he was scarcely con- 
scious half an hour before. 

After dinner he smokes a pipe with the vicar on the old 
stone bench under the parlor window, 

‘^It must be new life to you to have your sister with 
you,’’ he says, a little shyly, for already Jack finds it im- 
possible to speak of Miss Kendal as he might speak of any 
other girl. She is so — so lively, and has such lots to 
say.” 

Don’t you go and fall in love with her. Jack.” 

^^Am I a fool?” Jack exclaims, hastily, turning away 
his face. 

don’t know. But Lenore is not; and she wouldn’t 
ask better fun than making a fool of you,” Kendal says, 
with a kind of languid scorn. She ought to be marked 
^ dangerous’; I have told her so a hundred times.” 

^^Of course she can’t help looking — what she is.” 

Do you admire her?” 

"^My dear fellow, she has the most perfectly beautiful 
face I ever saw in my life!” 

suppose she has,’’ the vicar says, in the same 
languid, tired kind of way, leaning his head back against 
the ivy-covered wall. I wonder what has brought her 
down to Matching?” 


30 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


look you up, I suppose.’’ 

She says so. But I scarcely think it was that. She 
was quite satisfied to leave me to my own devices for the 
last two years. And I don’t think it was to see Georgie, 
cither, though she professes to be anxious to see her. She 
has not said a word to me about going to Matching 
Farm.” 

My mother must come to see her first.” 

Your motlier need not stand on ceremony with my 
sister. Jack. If Lenore wants to see them, she will go 
over with me this evening. But she shall propose it her- 
self.” 

They don’t know she is here, do they ?” 

^^They do — I told them she was coming, yesterday 
evening. ” 

They never told me a word about it!” 

^^They did not think it such a momentous occurrence 
as you seem to think it. Jack!” Kendal laughs, turning 
his head to look at his friend. Then his eyes soften into 
the old admiring gaze as they rest on the frank, hand- 
some profile with the determined mouth half hidden by 
the big blonde mustache of which Jack is so secretly proud. 

You must not let Lenore amuse herself at your ex- 
pense, old boy — remember that!” 

I shall be flattered if she thinks me ^ a foeman worthy 
of her steel’!” Jack laughs, in such a heart-whole way 
that Austen Kendal dismisses the subject from his mind 
with something like a sigh of relief. 


CHAPTER III. 

Miss Kehdal does propose paying a visit to Matching 
Farm with her brother that very evening. And she not 
only goes to the farm, but makes herself so agreeable 
there that she wins golden opinions from every one, from 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 31 

Mrs. Irving down to the North-country cook, who prom- 
ises to make singing hinnies’’ every evening she comes 
there to drink tea. And Miss Kendal professes herself 
delighted with Matching Farm, and with its pleasant- 
faced mistress, and above all with Georgie, who has the 
most charming kitten-face she ever saw in her life, as she 
tells Austen on their way back to the Vicarage in the 
soft sweet summer dusk. And they have arranged a 
picnic to the Broads — a place about a mile from Match- 
ing, where the river widens out into a lake under the 
shadow of the oak woods; and Miss Kendal is to be in- 
ducted into the mysteries of brewing and baking and pre- 
serving, and Lohengrin is to be induced to carry her as 
soon as possible, and altogether there seems to be no im- 
mediate danger of the languid light of her proud eyes 
wearying of the rolling hours as they succeed each other 
at Matching, sleepy old out-of-the-world village as it un- 
doubtedly is. 

But it is not in the carrying out of any such methods 
of diversion that Miss Kendal is fated to spend the next 
three weeks of glorious summer weather. Two days after 
her arrival the vicar is pronounced by Dr. Flemyng to bo 
suffering from typhoid fever; three days later he is lying 
in a darkened room, raving of some heavy tombstone he 
thinks they have laid over him, and which he declares to 
be crushing his head to powder. And his sister nurses 
him with a devotion which Dr. Flemyng declares to be 
beyond all praise — describing it to the people who stop 
him twenty times a day to inquire for the vicar — with an 
entire forgetfulness of self which does her the greatest 
credit, and with an amount of natural talent which makes 
up for want of previous training, this being her first ex- 
perience in a sick-room. 

It proves to be a very bad type of typhoid, and, as the 
days go on, each brings some more dangerous symptom or 
complication of symptoms. Mrs. Irving, who at first 


32 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

had merely come over every morning to give Miss Kendal 
an op20ortunity of taking some hours’ rest while she tended 
the patient, going back to the farm in the evening, takes 
up her residence at the Vicarage altogether. 

Mrs. Irving’s mere presence in the house would be in 
itself a comfort, but she is a born nui'se, capable of ac- 
com2')lishing as much in an hour as another would in 
three, and that in such a quiet knowledgable way that her 
ministrations soothe the patient rather than irritate himf, 
as some of his sister’s best-meant efforts sometimes do. 
And Lenore hails her coming with great relief and thank- 
fulness, and the two women became better acquainted 
with each other in those three weeks spent over the sick- 
bed than they would have become in three years of ordi- 
nary intercourse. 

Jack, too, often sits up at night with his friend, coming 
in at nine o’clock or so, and going back to the farm for 
breakfast. Once or twice, however, Lenore insists upon his 
breakfasting at the Vicarage, waylaying him as he passes 
through the hall. And every morning she carries him a 
cup of coffee, talking to him in a low tone on the landing 
while he drinks it, for she has grown quite quiet, and 
serious, and seems to have forgotten altogether her in- 
tention of shaking Jack’s allegiance to May Somers. But 
this new rdle bewilders him even more than the other, 
and he counts those five minutes spent in whispered talk 
of pulse and temperature on the close narrow lobby worth 
all the rest of the long sweet summer day. 

Georgie is not allowed to take any part in the nursing, 
or even to come to the Vicarage at all. She hears about 
the patient three or four times every day, and Jack tells 
her all he knows, and her mother pays her a visit nowand 
then; and with this she is obliged to be satisfied, Mrs. 
Irving not seeing fit to grant her any more. The fever 
is not of an infectious kind, but Georgie was so delicate 
as a clnld as to render her rearing a troublesome business, 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


33 


and she is still nervous and excitable, and altogether her 
mother does not choose to have her at the Yicaraga; and 
to both her children Mrs. Irving’s wish is unwritten law. 

But she has the pleasure of sending strawberries and 
cherries and flowers and chickens and milk to the patient, 
and is even commissioned to make bread and pudding and 
pies for the rest of the party, there being no time to waste 
in cooking at the Vicarage, and it being a pleasure as well 
as occupation to Georgie to spend some hours every day in 
providing for their wants, under Mrs. Johnstone’s careful 
tutelage. 

It is the second week in July before Dr. Flemyng pro- 
nounces the fever to be abating, and a week later before 
he will take upon himself to promise that it shall continue 
to abate. And a few days after this the vicar totters into 
the room opposite his own, leaning on Jack’s strong arm, 
and has a whole chicken for his dinner — which he thinks 
little enough — and asks to be allowed to see himself in the 
looking-glass, which being granted, he laughs at the' gaunt 
bearded face reflected in Lenore’s pretty ivory hand-mirror, 
and gets Jack to cut his hair, and goes back to his room 
again — in less than the time specified by the doctor — so 
tired that he sleeps like a child for the rest of the day. 

But he begins to mend from this day forward, and Mrs. 
Irving speaks of going hack to the farm for good. And 
Georgie is to see him in another day or two, and in the 
meantime Miss Kendal is to spend a long day at the farm, 
while Mrs. Irving is still in charge at the Vicarage. 

Jack comes for her after breakfast in the dog-cart, and 
they drive back by a long round through hedges gay with 
dog-roses and honeysuckle, and Lenore breathes in long 
draughts of the delicious summer air, while Jack drinks 
long draughts of that still more intoxicating potion called 
love. For, if Jack was desperately smitten by his friend’s 
sister the first time he ever saw her, he is desperately in 
love with her now, so much so that Georgie has discovered 


34 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

it without ever having seen them together, and quizzes 
her brother unmercifully, in revenge for all the times he 
quizzed her about Tom Somers, and Nat Flemyng, and all 
the rest of the village beaus who had admired her before 
she was engaged to Austen Kendal, as she tells him, 
laughing, while she packs hampers for the Vicarage; and 
May Somers stands by, smiling a little constrainedly. Jack 
sitting on the great kitchen-table swinging his foot back- 
ward and forward without one glance at his sister’s friend. 

Bub this drive through the mid-summer lanes would 
compensate for all the quizzing in the world, Jack thinks, 
as he glances at the exquisite profile of the girl beside 
him — so much at least of it as is visible under the great 
Alsatian hat of rough black straw. To be alive on 
such a day as this would be pleasure, but to sit beside 
Lenore Kendal, while they bowl along with such 
a horse as Magpie between the shafts, such sunshine 
round them, such a blue sky over their heads, is little 
short of Paradise, or so Jack thinks. 

^‘1 wish the brim of your hat turned up on this side, 
and not on the other,” he says, laughing, as he tries to 
catch a glimpse of her eyes — from which it is plain that 
Austen Kendal’s sister and his friend have grown very in- 
timate during his illness. 

I am sorry no prevision of such a wish on your part 
occurred to me while I was fastening the roses into it,” 
Lenore says soberly. It would have been as easy to put 
them at one end as the other then.” 

Can’t you take it off and change them now?” Jack 
suggests. 

I think not,” Lenore says, amused. 

But they are only pinned in.” 

How do you know?” — laughing. 

I saw you putting them in this morning — there was 
nothing but that lace thing on it before.” 

had no idea you were so observant, Mr. Irving.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 35 

observe everything you do^ certainly.” 

^‘How little you must have to occupy your mind!” 

Do you call that little? I call it everything in the 
world.” 

AVhat is the name of that big blue hill on the other 
side of the river?” 

That? Oh, that is the Watchhorn! Would you be- 
lieve it was five miles away?” 

Scarcely. Have you seen the Alps, Mr. Irving?” 

No. The highest mountains I have ever seen were 
the Barrier range, in Victoria.” 

did not know you had been in Australia.” 
went out before my poor father died, just to see 
what farming was like out there.” 

You came back then?” 

‘^Yes. My mother could not look after the farm. 
And, besides, she wanted me.” 

Is that very long ago?” 

It is nearly three years ago,” Jack answers, giving 
Magpie leave to trot down the long slope of hill before 
them. 

I admire your mother so much. But I think she 
must have felt your father’s death terribly. I have often 
watched her, while she thought nobody was looking, and 
I have seen her face grow so sad, quite suddenly, as if 
she had remembered something which made her heart 
bleed. 

I have seen that look on her face too,” Jack answers, 
gravely. ^^But it was there before my father died. And 
I have asked her what she was thinking of once or twice, 
but she put me ofi with some excuse or other.” 

^^It comes sometimes when she is looking at you,” 
Miss Kendal says, looking at him in her turn. 

Yes — and at Georgie. I often think she fancies she 
may die and leave us, and that she can’t bear to think of 
us left alone.” 


36 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


It may be that/’ Lenore says, musingly. 

Then she looks away at the woods, with 

“ Their leafy tide of greenery still rippling up the wind,” 

and Jack forgets his surmises in looking at her, and feels 
the casual touch of her shoulder send the blood racing 
through his veins, and wonders if every fellow feels like 
this when he is in love, and wishes the road to Matching 
Farm were five times as long, if only he might drive all 
the way thither with Lenore Kendal beside him, even in 
that provoking big hat which sometimes leaves nothing 
but the curve of her cheek and chin visible, and some- 
times not even that. 

Georgie and May Somers meet them at the gate. It is 
the first time May has seen Miss Kendal, and she looks at 
her very curiously as she stands in the porch with Georgie 
while J ack disposes of his horse and trap. May is rather 
pretty herself, but beside Miss Kendal she fades into 
utter insignificance. Her face looks even common beside 
the perfect beauty of outline and coloring over which the. 
large hat throws such a pearly shadow, while she stands 
there talking to Austen’s little sweetheart and holding 
her hand in the tender caressing way which has already 
won Georgie’s simple suffrages. 

May put on her best dress in anticipation of the Irvings’ 
visitor, and thought she looked very well as she stepped 
into her pony phaeton to drive over to the farm. But 
her faith in her own elaborately fringed gray silk is a 
little shaken by the fit and style of Miss Kendal’s chintz 
gown — a black ground sprinkled with tiny yellow rose- 
buds — and the inimitable grace with which she wears the 
large straw hat with its garniture of natural Gloire de 
Dijon roses. Miss Somers thought nobody with fair hair 
could wear a hat lined with pale gold color, but Miss 
Kendal’s hat is lined with gold color, and there are knots 
of gold -colored ribbon down the front of her gown. ■ 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


37 


^^Whafc shall we do first?” Georgie asks, when ques- 
tions about the convalescent have been put and answered, 
and the three girls have looked at each other, and Miss 
Kendal has admired the big Persian cat sunning himself 
on the sill of the parlor window. 

We are to dine early, and Jack wants you to try Loh- 
engrin after dinner. Shall we go to the garden and eat 
cherries now, or play tennis, or what?” 

1 vote for cherries first and tennis afterward,” Jack 
says, coming back after the shortest interval Georgie ever 
remembers him to have spent in the stables. And, as 
Jack^s vote always carries the day at Matching, they 
saunter round to the cherry-orchard, the master ” and 
Miss Kendal leading the way. 

‘^We slia’n’tget many chances of speaking to her!” 
Georgie says, as she follows with her arm round May^s 
neck. You’ll see Jack won’t even go away to watch the 
colt at the bars to-day, or to see the cattle fed, or the hay, 
or anything!” 

^^Do you think he admires her so much?” May asks, 
wistfully. 

Admires her!” Georgie laughs, shaking her brown 
head. He worships the very ground she walks on! I 
know Jack well enough to be very sure of that.” 

And you think he will marry her?” 

I am sure he will — if she will have him.” 

The idea of any one’s refusing Jack would never have 
occurred to May Somers. She had looked upon him as a 
kind of hero or demi-god since he was a boy and she a tiny 
little girl; she does not believe there is a woman in the 
world who could refuse him if he saw fit to crown her 
with the rapture and the glory of his love. 

Lenore is very fond of white-heart cherries. And it is 
very pleasant in the old orchard, with the sun slanting- 
down upon them through the mossy branches and lying 
'golden on the short russet grass. But Georgie can not 


38 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


see what beauty there is in an old cherry-orchard that peo- 
ple should loiter away half the day there; and May Som- 
ers can not find any pleasure in watching Jack while he 
feeds Miss Kendal with cherries, or while she smiles up 
at him with those strange, dark, velvety-brown eyes. So 
these two leave them at last to their own devices, and be- 
take themselves to the tennis-courts; and Jack is just 
as glad. And from the cherry-orchard he takes Miss 
Kendal into the garden, and from the garden to the old 
pond where the water-lilies blow; and every moment he is 
growing more infatuated with this girl with the flaxen 
head and dark eyes, and more and more inclined to be- 
lieve that she would not look at him like that unless she 
liked him just a little, and to wonder what she would say 
if he asked her to try to like him more. 

She seems pleased with everything — the quaint old gar- 
den, the deep pond, the young horses in the paddock, the 
view of Watchhorn from the long meadow, the little stream 
that runs like liquid gold over its gravelly bed at the 
bottom of the meadow: even the great sleek cows in the 
daisy-field come in for a word of praise. 

‘‘ Yet you say you could not live in the country!” Jack 
remarks a little wistfully. 

^^Did I say that?” 

Don’t you remember? The day you first came down 
to Matching.” 

Ah, that is a long time ago!” she says, smiling as she 
tenders a cabbage-leaf to the largest and sleekest cow. 

You think you could manage to endure it now?” 

So much depends on one’s company,” she laughs, 
shaking her head. I knew nobody at Matching when I 
said the idea of living and dying here would be horrible to 
me. It did seem very horrible to me, looking at those 
green graves!” 

^^It does not seem so horrible to you now?” 

She is looking away from him at the blue outline of 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 39 

Watchhorn, so faint with heat that it seems to lose its out- 
line in the clouds; but for one moment he sees a curious 
expression drift over her face — an expression of scorn and 
loathing and derision, which would have puzzled him more 
if he could have seeii it better, or if it had not vanished 
as suddenly as it came. 

I can imagine circumstances in which it could be tol- 
erable,” she says, with her sweet cold laugh. If one 
could live here in this quaint old farm-house witli the 
person one loved best in the world, for instance, it might 
even be pleasant. But then one could be happy in Lap- 
land or the interior of Africa under the same conditions; 
so that is paying no compliment to Matching Farm.” 

She moves away from the gate as she speaks, and Jack 
follows her, forgetting the swift look which had puzzled 
him in the new delicious hope to which her eyes rather 
than her words have given birth in his heart. If she had 
not cared for him a little, she would never have looked at 
him as she had looked at him all the time she mocked 
him with that sweet cold laugh of hers. No woman ever 
looked at a man like that unless she wanted him to be- 
lieve she was not indiiferent to him— at least no woman 
like Lenore. But then the thought of his own unworthi- 
ness overwhelms him. What is he that he should aspire 
to this beautiful creature, who moves among his people 
like a being from another sphere? 

His heart sinks like lead as he looks at her, walking be- 
fore him, tall and slender, in her chintz gown, with a 
bunch of crimson clove carnations in her hand. Lenore 
Kendal is a wife for an earl, and Jack Irving is a simple 
yeoman; but then why has she looked at him till he is 
fain to trust his modest worth,” and ask her the ques- 
tion which her saucy smile of triumph has almost fore- 
stalled? 

We thought you had lost yourselves!” Georgie laughs, 
as they sit down to dinner in the long low parlor with its 


40 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


high dark wainscot and the polished floor in which Mrs. 
Irving takes such pride. But Lenore cares very little for 
what they think so long as she manages to amuse herself; 
she never did care much what people thought so long as 
she pleased Lenore Kendal. 

Jack does the honors in a quiet, straightforward, un- 
aflected way, to which even Miss Kendal’s nice suscepti- 
bilities can take no exception. And he looks very band- 
some as he sits at the head of his table, his fair head 
thrown into relief by the dark wood-work, cleverly carv- 
ing ham and turkey with strong brown hands which have 
done a good day’s work before now, and look as if they 
could do as much again, though they have held Miss 
Kendal’s slight fingers very tenderly once or twice on the 
lobby at the Vicarage, when she was more anxious than 
usual about her brother, and seemed to forget that Jack 
was holding her hands in her eagerness to hear how things 
hacj/'been going on during the night. 

After dinner Lohengrin is brought round with a lady’s 
saddle on, and Miss Kendal is inducted into Mrs. Irving’s 
riding-habit, which fits her tolerably, Mrs. Irving never 
having worn it since she was quite a young woman and 
used to ride about with her husband — the handsomest 
couple in Matching, as everybody said. And Miss Kendal, 
who is as clever on horseback as she is in most other places, 
enjoys her canter over the moors at least as much as her 
loitering in the cherry-orchard, and is flattered into some- 
thing very like the happiness she professes to despise by 
the desperate love in the eyes of the young man beside her, 
who is young enough and handsome enough, and withal 
brave and good enough, to give her some pride in her con- 
quest, besides the pleasure of taking him away from that 
demure little blue-eyed girl who has been such a fool as to 
bestow her affections upon him without being asked. 

It is nearly six o’clock when they ride up under the 
double row of elms to the door of the farm-house again, 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT, 41 

Miss Kendal looking exquisitely lovely^ with a color like 
the petal of a wild-rose on her cheeks, and Jack so in- 
tensely happy that Georgie laughs up at him, standing by 
his stirrup; and May runs in hastily to see if tea is 
ready, but, instead of going into the parlor, walks up to 
Georgie’s little room under the gable, and, throwing her- 
self upon her knees by the bedside, buries her face in the 
white counterpane, with a moan like the moan of some 
small creature in desperate pain. 

They have singing hinnies ” for tea, and strawberries 
and cream, and cherry- tart; and the windows are open 
toward the garden, and the breath of the mignonette 
comes in with the sweet languid perfume of the newly- 
mown hay in the home meadow; and Miss Kendal laughs 
and talks to Georgie and to May Somers, who takes care 
to sit with her back to the light; but, though her manner 
is graceful and even friendly, there is no spontaneity about 
it— to talk to girls five or six years younger than herself is 
weariness to her. She is glad when the dusk begins to 
fall and it is time for her to think of getting home. 

Jack has offered to drive her back to the Vicarage, 
but this Miss Kendal has declined. 

She would much rather walk, she said — horses always 
shied at things in the hedges after dark, and it fright- 
ened her; besides, she should enjoy the walk so much 
more on such an exquisite evening as this. 

So they set out together at about half past eight o’clock, 
the girls coming with them as far as the gate leading into 
the road — for May Somers is not going home to-night. 
There is a soft glow of sunset in the west yet; but a young 
moon floats in the violet ether just over their heads; and, as 
they turn from the gate to walk up the road, they can hear 
the cuckoo’s ^Hast good-night ” 

“ Float from the hill above the farm.”. 

You are sure you won’t be tired?” Jack says, as they 
walk side by side, under the elms, the crescent moon send- 


42 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


ii]g their shadows faintly before them up the smooth white 
road. 

Tired the girl echoes, dreamily. As if anyone 
could feel tired on such a night as this!’^ 

Are you so happy?’’ Jack inquires, the beating of his 
heart causing a tremor in his voice, which he would give 
the world to steady if he could. 

One could almost forget one’s own identity in the 
light of that ladye-moon.” 

I don’t want to forget my own identity. I would not 
change places with any mortal man at this moment — I 
doubt if I could even feel so happy in Heaven.” 

Don’t say such things!” the girl says, shivering slight- 
ly in the warm night' air. 

^^But it is not wrong to be happy, is it?” 

Not wrong — no! But, when people feel like that, I 
think some misfortune is so sure to happen; I have heard 
it said so often, and always some grief followed. It seems 
as if perfect happiness were not permitted in this world; 
if one does come near it for a moment, some shadowy 
hand is certain to be thrust forward to drag us back 
again.” 

Have you ever been perfectly ha^ipy?” the young man 
asks a little wistfully. 

might have been, but for that shadowy hand,” she 
says, with a half-sad, half-smiling look at the great bunch 
of carnations in her hand, blood-red in the light of the 
moon. 

You cared for somebody perhaps?” 
suppose I thought I cared,” Lenore answers, after 
a moment’s pause, during which Jack’s Jealous eyes de- 
vour her face. 

But that is the same as caring, is it not?” 

For one moment more the girl pauses, and for that one 
moment Jack’s fate hangs in the balance. But he does 
not know it — does not dream that the whole future Joy 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


43 


or misery of his existence is being decided during these 
few breathless seconds, while the crescent moon looks 
down upon him through the elm-boughs, and he looks at 
Lenore Kendal’s face with all his heart in his passionate 
eyes. 

One thinks it is — at the time,” she says at last, slowly 
and deliberately, and the die of Jack’s life is cast. 

But afterward — ” 

One learns to know the difference,” she laughs, 
shrugging her shoulders. There are ornaments sold 
which look just like gold, you know — quite as pretty, 
and just as good a color — better sometimes. But they 
do not last.” 

Lenore, do you think my love for you will last?” 

They have come to a stand-still in the middle of the 
road, between the sunset and the moonlight, and he has 
taken both her hands in his, carnations and all, and is 
looking down into her face with eager questioning eyes. 

Do you love me?” she asks simply, looking up at 
him. I did not know.” 

Oh, you must have known!” the young man exclaims 
passionately. I think you must have known it from 
the very first day I saw you, for I believe in my heart I 
loved you even then!” 

^‘Even then!” she repeats, smiling, 

Lenore, my darling, you would not smile at me like 
that if you were going to break my heart!” 

I hope I am not going to break your heart.” 

And you will try to care for me a little? Oh, my 
darling, I think I shall go mad for joy!” 

He puts his arms round her, and would have kissed her, 
but she pushes him away with a smiling glance down the 
long, shadowy road. 

Forgive me — I don’t think I know what I am 
doing! But, oh, Lenore, tell me you will try to love me! 
Tell me you will be my wife some day! I have dared so 


44 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


much already that you see I am fool enough to rush in 
where an angel might fear to tread! But you would 
never have let me say so much if you were going to break 
my heart?’’ 

^^But can you care for me, knowing so little about me 
as you do?” 

^^Care for you? I love you more than my life!” 

But you know nothing about me!” 

I know that you are the one woman in the world for 
me.” 

I wonder what fate brought me to Matching — if that 
is indeed the case?” 

My good angel,” the young man answers, quickly — 

nothing more nor less!” 

Lenore Kendal looks at him, and as she looks she smiles 
very strangely, 

I do not like you to say things like that,” she says. 

do not think it is — lucky,” 

Don’t you?” he laughs, gathering her hands to her 
breast as he looks down into the beautiful velvety eyes. 
‘^Oh, Lenore, my darling, my angel, what have I done 
that I should deserve such happiness as this?” 

Again!” she exclaims, drawing away her hands, a 
shadow drifting over her face as if a cloud had suddenly 
drifted over the moon. If you talk like that, I shall be 
angry with you — I shall send you away!” 

I will do anything you like; I will say I am miser- 
able, if that will please you better,” Jack says, his glad 
eyes devouring the perfect beauty of her face, white in 
the moonlight — only do not be so cruel as to sjDeak of 
sending me away !” 

shall not send you away if you behave like a reason- 
able mortal. ” 

‘^Do you think I would go?” — laughing joyously. 

Lenore, say you will marry me, and then 1 will let you 
go — for the present.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


45 


I suppose I shall marry you — smiling a little. 

That won’t do.” 

What am I say?” 

^‘Say — ^ Jack, I will marry you — soon.’ ” 

Jack, I will marry you — some day.” 

He stoops his head to kiss her, but remembers just in 
time; and yet there is no one visible along the shadow- 
flecked road — he might have kissed her twenty times and 
no one been the wiser. But he can wait for that, he 
thinks, as they walk through the sleepy old village to- 
gether, where the lights are beginning to twinkle softly 
through the summer gloaming, and the young moon 
throws their shadows distinctly up the hilly street. 

Austen will be so glad,” he says, as they climb the 
hill together — ^^and Georgie. And my mother will love 
you, because you have made me so happy — though in- 
deed I think she loves you already for your own sake.” 

^‘She has been very kind to me,” Lenore answers; but 
again the shadow flits over her face. 

And you like her, Lenore, don’t you?” 

Nobody could know your mother without liking 
her.” 

think so; but then I am her son; and may be 
slightly prejudiced!” Jack laughs, as they pass the black- 
smith’s forge. 

The ruddy light streams through the doorway and 
wraps Lenore from head to foot in a momentary flood of 
radiance, and there is something weird and ominous in the 
exquisite face and flgure as they appear projected in such 
lurid relief against the night, made black by that vivid 
glow of light. She looks like some beautiful destroying 
angel leading her victim in shadow beside her; but the ef- 
fect is over almost instantaneously, and there is nothing 
to be seen but a pair of lovers walking together in the 
light of a summer moon. 

In the Vicarage garden Jack kisses his sweetheart, hold- 


46 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


ing her to his heart with strong young arms that clasp her 
as if they never meant to let her go. 

I will tell my mother to-night/’ he says, in a voice 
that trembles with the passionate pleasure that fills his 
heart almost to pain. could not wait till morning to 
let her know how happy I am. Dear old mother! She 
will be so glad!” 

Will she?” Lenore asks dreamily. 

And we will tell Austen to-morrow?” 

^^Yes. And I will write to my aunt to-morrow — I 
should like her to know.” 

They will wonder in London how you could fancy a 
simple country fellow like me, won’t they?” 

^‘Aunt Poigndestre will wonder,” Lenore answers 
quietly; and even in the moonlight the old scornful smile 
curls her sweet lips. But Jack does not see it — they are 
too near his own. 

She can not wonder more than I do, sweetheart. I 
am sure I shall wake up to-morrow morning firmly 
persuaded that all this has been nothing but a wonder- 
ful dream.” 

‘^A dream?” she echoed vaguely. 

It seems too good to be true — to me,” 

The soft air sighs round them; the moonlight steeps 
the sleeping garden in a bath of silver; behind them the 
old house rises up, dark with ivy; in Austen’s room a light 
glimmers through the red blind. 

You must promise me two things, Jack.” 

1 will promise you a thousand, darling.” 

You are not to be too happy, and you are not to care 
for me too much.” 

Two utterly impossible things to promise,” he laughs, 
still holding her in the circle of his glad young arms. 

I think I am too happy already, since you say it is not 
good to be too happy. But I don’t think I could ever 
care for you too much.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


47 


Ah, but I think you could!” 

^^Not if you will care for me a little, Lenore.” 

She raises her face to the calm sky, leaning her flaxen 
head against his shoulder; the deep velvety-brown eyes 
have no tears in them; no sigh comes from the sweet red 
lips. And yet she murders him then as surely as if she 
had raised her hand to strike. 

I love you. Jack,” she whispers softly. There — 

now I think you may let me go!” 


CHAPTER IV. 

Miss Kendal is standing in the open doorway the next 
morning when Mrs. Irving comes into the hall. It is an 
exquisite morning, soft and dewy — the roses in Lenore’s 
hand are dewy-wet still in their inmost dead-white folds. 

^^Dear Lenore, I am so glad! I hope Jack will make 
you as happy as — as you have made him.” 

The two women kiss each other, then stand for a mo- 
ment looking into each other’s face. The mother’s eyes 
are suspiciously red, but her lips are smiling — Lenore 
looks just a trifle paler than her wont, or else the faint 
blue gown makes her look pale. 

And you care for my boy, Lenore?” 

'^We are engaged,” Lenore answers, smiling. 

Mrs. Irving hesitates for a moment, looking out into 
the garden; then she says, in a voice which trembles a 
good deal: 

When your brother asked me for Georgie, I told him 
I had something to say to him which I had rather he 
heard before I gave him any answer one way or another. 
I have not the same authority over my son as I have over 
my daughter; but I wish to tell you what I told Mr. 
Kendal, and then leave the matter in your own hands, as 
I left it in his. Will you walk with me as far as the gate, 
dear? It won’t take three minutes to tell.” 


48 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


Miss Kendal looks both puzzled and surprised; but she 
steps out through the doorway without a moment’s hesi- 
tation, and walks beside Mrs. Irving very slowly down to 
the garden gate and back again. The eider woman is the 
first to speak. 

do not want you to attach more importance to what 
I am going to tell you than the thing may seem' to be 
worth. I know that my own fears may morbidly exag- 
gerate the danger — so many people have the same and 
even worse skeletons in their cupboards without in the 
smallest degree being troubled by their presence. But I 
think it right to tell you that there have been two in- 
stances of insanity in my husband’s family; his father 
died in one of the places where they take charge of such 
unfortunates, and one of his nephews is a ward in Chan- 
cery, who, though he lives in his own house and is not un- 
der any kind of physical restraint, is not considered sufiS- 
ciently sane to be allowed the management of his own 
affairs.” 

Is that all?” Lenore asks, when Mrs. Irving pauses, 
her face very white and pained. 

All! My dear child, it has been enough to make my 
life a very sorrowful one for the last seven-and- twenty 
years!” 

Does Jack know?” 

He knows about his cousin; but his grandfather was 
supposed to have got a sunstroke — I believe he really did 
get a sunstroke when he was a young man. I havb never 
made any secret of either one case or the other. — some- 
body would have been sure to tell if I })ad, and then Jack 
would have wondered. But I never let them think I at- 
tach any importance to it, and I do not believe it has ever 
dawned on Jack that his grandfather’s misfortune could 
in any way injure or influence him; and I hope and pray 
the idea may never come into liis head.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 49 

•* But, my dear Mrs. Irving, six families out of ten have 
the same story to tell.” 

I know that very well; but that does not comfort me 
very much ” — smiling sorrowfully^ 

And half the people in the world are crazed on some 
subject or other.” 

So your brother said when I spoke to him about 
Georgie; and I am more anxious for Georgie than Jack, 
because she is so much more like her father’s people.” 

You have troubled yourself very much about nothing, 
I think,” Miss Kendal says, smiling. I am not sur- 
prised that Austen did not allow it to influence him in his 
choice of a wife!” 

Of course it is only a very remote contingency,” Mrs. 
Irving goes on, shaking her head; ^^but still it is a con- 
tingency, and I should not think it right to allow my 
children to marry without telling those whose future 
would be so closely bound up with theirs that such a ter- 
rible scourge as insanity had twice made its appearance in 
their father’s family.” 

I think you might have saved yourself the trouble 
and pain,” Miss Kendal says, not unkindly. Nobody 
who fell in love with Georgie would hesitate to marry her 
because her grandfather had died of sunstroke, or she had 
a cousin who was slightly deranged.” 

And it will not prejudice you against Jack?” 

^^It certainly will not prejudice me against Jack!” 

Well, I thought it right to tell you,” Jack’s mother 
says, sighing. But, of course, you will not breathe a 
word of it to him, dear. I would not for the world have 
him think I attached any importance to it.” 

You may trust me,” Lenore answers, smiling. 

By this time they have reached the door again, and 
Lenore kisses her future mother-in-law before they go in. 

Don’t fret about it any more,” she whispers, kindly. 

We will all take care of them together now. And I am 


50 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


very sure you have been disquieting yourself unneces- 
sarily.” 

Mrs. Irving feels relieved by the coolness, not to say 
carelessness, with which her son’s fiancee takes the an- 
nouncement of a fact which has haunted her like a night- 
mare for the greater part of her life. It reassures her to 
see how little this girl seems to dread the danger which 
menaces them; and yet she wonders at it. If she really 
cared for Jack, would she not be more anxious, even sup- 
loosing it to be so unlikely to happen, and an inheritance 
so universal, as she says? But perhaps she cares so much 
for Jack that the idea of giving him up for anything of 
the kind never occurred to her, or perhaps, as Austen 
Kendal had said when she spoke to him about Georgie, 
love was too strongly developed now to allow room for any 
other consideration in her mind. 

Well, she has done her duty by the Kendals. If they 
choose to risk the contingency — which indeed is very re- 
mote — they will do it with their eyes open. And perhaps 
Lenore is right. A great many people might call her 
anxiety to warn them a mere conscientious scruple, far- 
stretched and overstrained. 

^ Miss Kendal writes that very afternoon to inform her 
aunt of her engagement, while Austen is congratulating 
liis friend in his own room, and Mrs. Irving is getting 
her things ready to go back to the farm. Georgie is to 
come with her to spend the next day at the Vicarage, to 
see her lover for the first time since his illness; and, as 
that promises to be a busy day. Miss Kendal is glad to get 
her letter written and dispatched during this temporary 
lull. Kot that her aunt can in any way influence her de- 
cision, Miss Kendal being entirely her own mistress; but 
she seems to wish the fact of her engagement to be 
known as soon as possible to the only relative about whose 
opinion she seems to care, though at the same time she 
begs her aunt to keep it a secret for the present, as she 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 51 

thinks engagements very stupid things herself, and does 
not care to have her friends hear it till just before the' 
marriage, which she thinks will probably take place very 
soon. 

For many reasons Lady Poigndestre will be glad of her 
niece^s engagement. Mr. Irving may not be in exactly 
their own rank of life; but he is a perfectly respectable 
young man, of a good and respectable family, and he is 
much better off, so far as money goes, than many of the 
more aristocratic suitors whom she would have been pleased 
to see Lenore accept, but whom Lenore had seen fit to re- 
fuse one after the other with as much sang-froid as if 
she, Lenore, had been an heiress with all the most eligible 
partis in England at her feet. And Lady Poigndestre 
will have another reason for being glad of her engagement, 
as Lenore Kendal knows very well; and the knowledge 
makes her red lip curl as she drops her letter into the 
post-pillar outside the Vicarage gate and saunters up the 
narrow walk again, humming two lines of her favorite 
song — 

“ He took her soft hand e’er her mother could bar — 

‘ Kow tread we a measure!’ said young Lochinvar.” 

After dinner Jack, who seems to fly backward and for- 
ward, so little time does he lose on the road, rides up to 
the Vicarage gate, leading Lohengrin, saddled and bridled, 
and with his mother’s riding-habit rolled up like a soldier’s 
knapsack on the pommel. And Lenore wastes no time in 
getting ready, for twenty minutes later they are riding, 
through the village to the no small admiration of the in- 
habitants thereof, who are one and all of the opinion that 
‘^Master Jack” will soon be bringing a young mistress 
home to the farm. 

I am taking you to choose the site of our new house, 
Lenore,” Jack says, as they walk their horses up the hill. 

Of our new house?” 


62 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


Yes. I am not going to take you home to Matching 
farm-house.’^ 

The farm-house belongs to your mother?” 

I have given it to my mother. And I am going to 
build a nest for my bird higher up on the great green hill, 
nearer the skj.” 

^'Did you always intend to build a new house for your- 
self, Jack?” 

Yes, Avhen J brought a new mistress home to Match- 
ing Farm.” 

She rides beside him in silence for a minute or two, 
looking straight before her between Lohengrin’s small 
brown ears. 

I would rather you chose the site yourself. Jack; for, 
after all, it will make very little difference to me,” she 
says, at last. 

Won’t it make any difference to you wdiere you spend 
the rest of your life, child?” 

^^Oh, of course! But — but I mean there can’t be 
much variety to choose from on the side of a big green 
hill.” 

Oh, the views are different all round; and then there 
will be the wood behind! You were never on the hill it- 
self yet, Lenore — you will be pleased with the picture of 
the river and the valley lying below us, and Watchhorn in 
the distance, so grand and blue. And we can even catch 
a glimpse of the Broad from two or three places, only 
then we lose sight of the valley and the old gray bridge.” 

Lenore listens to him vaguely, something — is it com- 
punction? — overshadowing her lovely eyes. 

We will make a plan of the house afterward,” Jack 
goes on, in the voice which has such anew ring of gladness 
in it. I have an idea of what it ought to be like; but you 
shall make any improvements you please on my idea. 
You have better taste than I have, though,” he adds, 
laughing. Perhaps that is not so evident, since you 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 53 

chose only me; but I had the good taste to think you the 
sweetest and loveliest woman in all the world 

You know how to flatter, Mr. Irving.” 

What words could one use to flatter you?” 

I not am the sweetest or loveliest woman in all the 
world.” 

But I think you are.” 

Jack, some day or other you will think me the cruel- 
est woman that was ever born.” 

Shall I?” Jack laughs, incredulous. Let me know 
when that day comes, Lenore — I don’t think it is very 
imminent at present. We shall turn in at this gate here — 
this will be our entrance gate, Lenore, only the gate must 
match the cottage; and I shall turn the lane into a broad 
smooth drive.” 

It is a pretty lane, overshadowed by trees, and it winds 
up the hill at the back of the farm, mounting very gradu- 
ally, through green fields and meadows, to the wood 
which crowns the summit, standing up, cool and shadowy, 
against the sky. 

It is very pretty here,” Lenore says at last. 

The higher one goes the better the views are, and the 
air. There — that is the village lying below us behind that 
veil of smoke.” 

The quaint old houses look picturesque in the distance, 
with the old gray bridge spanning the silver ribbon of the 
river. 

^•JSTothing could be prettier than that,” Lenore ex- 
claims, shading her eyes with her hand as she looks down. 

Don’t be in too great a hurry to come to a conclu- 
sion,” Jack laughs, turning his horse’s head. We are a 
long way from the wood yet, and my idea is to have the 
house close under the wood.” 

Yes?” Lenore says half interrogatively, half absently, 
as she too turns her horse’s head and follows him up the 
green turf slope, always winding round the hill. 


54 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

Don’t you think tlie shelter of the wood would be 
pleasant in winter? We have a great deal of frost and 
snow sometimes up here.” 

suppose so/’ Lenore answers, shivering slightly. 

Lenore, do you remember where you said you would 
rather never have been born than think you would be 
fated to live and die at Matching?” 

Jack is riding a little in advance, and does not turn his 
head as he puts the question. But Lenore turns away 
her face as she answers it. 

‘^Of course I remember it. You are always alluding 
to that unfortunate speech of mine!” 

Do vou know, I hated vou to say it even then.” 

/^Yes>’ 

That is not five weeks ago yet.” 

And now you have promised to live and die at 
Matching? Girls are inconsistent creatures, aren’t they? 
But it is lucky for us they don’t always mean exactly what 
they say,” 

He laughs as he says it, leading the way up the hill. 
And now they have lost sight of the valley and the old 
gray bridge, and the Peacock Hall woods lie spread out 
below them, with a wide stretch of blue water shining like 
a mirror under the sun. 

That is Matching Broad,” Jack says, pointing with 
the handle of his whip. Now, Lenore, I have shown 
you what are considered the finest views on the hill. 
Which do you like best of the two?” 

This one, I think,” the girl answers, sitting in her 
saddle, her eyes on the shining water, her hand in her 
lover’s — for Jack has ridden up close to her — and a curious 
smile, half sad and half scornful, curling up the corners 
of lier beautiful mouth. 

Then here we shall build our house,” the young man 
says, looking about him — here, with its face to the val- 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 00 

ley and its back to the wood. And it will be only a step 
to the mother’s cottage; there it lies among the trees near 
the road, almost under our feet. Do you see it?” 

Lenore sees it, and nods her head. 

I could run down in three minutes any day,” Jack 
laughs, joyously. We could have a code of signals, too. 
If I had our old field- glass now, I dare say I should see 
my mother feeding her chickens, or Georgie playing ten- 
nis, or even old Tam O’Shanter stealing along the garden 
wall after the young birds!” 

That would be interesting,” Lenore smiles, but with- 
out any curl of her ripe red lip. 

It would interest me,” Jack says, stoutly. ‘^I re- 
member in Australia thinking I would be glad to see even 
a weasel from the old place, though I waged such war 
against them when I was at home. Then here we shall 
pitch our tent, darling. You must let me kiss you; we 
are too high up to be seen by anybody but the crows.” 

He bends from his saddle and kisses her, and Lenore sub- 
mits to the caress. And then they ride down the hill to- 
gether, in the direction of the farm. The sight they have 
chosen is about half way up the hill, and is snugly shel- 
tered by a semi-circular curve or indentation in the wood. 
Through the wood a narrow footpath leads over the top 
of the hill and down again toward the church and the vil- 
lage, the way by which the vicar had reminded Georgie 
they two could so easily get to the farm. 

At the farm Georgie [receives them with open arms. 
The child seems so happy, what with looking at Jack’s 
happiness, and thinking of the meeting with her own 
lover in the morning, that Miss Kendal marvels, almost 
finding it in her heart to love her, though she is such a 
child, for the very joy and gladness of her countenance, 
and her sweet unselfish ways. She makes tea for Lenore, 
and carries cream for her with her own hands out of the 
dairy, and runs out to get some cherries in a little 


56 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

willow basket^ and a bunch of the roses she knows Lenore 
likes best. 

Isn’t she a darling?” Jack says, smiling as he watches 
his little sister’s flying figure passing in and out among 
the rose-bushes. 

She certainly is,” Lenore answers, smiling also. 

The moment I saw her I ceased to wonder at Austen’s 
infatuation; my only astonishment was that such a 
Titania should fall in love with an ugly little fellow like 
him!” 

I think she accepted him first to please me,” Jack 
laughs; she knew how much I thought of him, and how 
fond we were of each other, and how sorry I should be if 
any grief or pain came to him through a sister of mine. 
But she cares for him now for his own sake; I know that 
from what the poor little thing suffered all the time he 
was ill.” 

Did she feel it so much ?” 

Indeed she did! I don’t think anybody knew it so 
well as I; my mother was here so little, you know, and 
when she was here she was always so busy. But Georgie 
used to run to me the moment I came back, to know all 
the news. Sometimes we have sat for an hour over the 
fire at night talking about him, and I have seen the tears 
dropping down her cheeks while her head lay on my shoul- 
der. Once or twice, when he was at the worst, I don’t 
think the child slept all night. She used to meet me out- 
side the gate in the road, all white and trembling, and 
scarcely able to ask me what she had been waiting there 
perhaps for an hour to hear.” 

They will be happy together, those two,” Lenore says 
dreamily. 

I think they will — but not happier than we shall be, 
darling — don’t say that.” 

‘^But they love each other so well!” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 57 

And don’t we love each other?” — a little jealously. 

Always one loves more than the other/’ the girl says, 
in the same dreamy way — ^^or, at least, almost always. 
But I think the love between those two is very equally 
balanced, or, if Austen loves most now, Georgie will go on 
loving him more and more every day till her love is at 
least equal to his.” 

And I shall make you love me, Lenore — not as much 
as I love you, perhaps, for I don’t think that would be 
possible — but as much as Georgie loves Austen. You 
won’t be able to help yourself, I shall be so desperately 
fond of you!” 

She smiles, looking up into the young man’s handsome 
eager face. 

^^We Irvings make good wives and husbands,” Jack 
says, smiling down at her. ‘^They say constancy runs in 
families; and I am sure it runs in ours.” 

And I believe it runs in ours,” Lenore adds, with a 
curiously determined flash of her gray eyes. I never 
heard of a Kendal yet who allowed the course of his true 
love to be turned aside by any obstacle whatever,” 

^^Then what happy couples we shall make!” Jack 
laughs, unconscious of the real meaning of that obstinate 
flicker. ^^We shall be fighting for the Dunmow flitch 
fifty years hence. I don’t think they ever give it twice 
in the same year.” 

Miss Kendal turns away to meet Georgie. The child 
makes a pretty picture in her pink dress, with her round 
flushed cheeks and the great bunches of pink roses with 
which she is literally laden. Lenore quotes Tennyson’s 
lines as she comes up to her — 

‘ Rosy is the West, 

Rosy is the South, 

Rosy are her cheeks, 

And a rose her mouth! 


58 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

^^They are not all for you,” Georgie smiles. These 
are Austen’s favorites — these little Scotch roses and the 
brier ones. You are to give all these to him.” 

With your love?” 

He has my love,” Georgie says simjily, and yet so in- 
imitably that Jack laughs. 

You dear child!” Lenore exclaims, and kisses heiv 
half sadly and half laughingly. 

And then they all go in-doors together, and have tea. 

That evening Jack and Miss Kendal spend as usual at 
the Vicarage, in the room upstairs to which Austen moves 
in everyday from his own; but they spend it in making 
ground-plans and front and back ^^elevations’’ on sheets 
of the vicar’s sermon -paper — at least Jack does — and now 
and then Lenore bends over the table, laughing, to give 
her opinion upon them at her lover’s earnest request. Jack 
has a very good idea of what he wants at all events, but 
he is merely making rude sketches which the architect 
will reduce to their proper weights and measurements. 
The house is to be a cottage in the early English style, 
with peaked roofs and projecting upper story, and quaint 
half-timbered porch. The windows are to have stone 
mullions, and to be casemented, with colored glass set in 
above. And the rooms are to be wainscoted, and to have 
polished floors, and mantel-piece of carved wood. 

Leaning over Jack, with her hand on the back of his 
chair. Miss Kendal can not help admiring the neatness and 
precision he evinces even in trifling details; his house will 
be simple, but it will be entirely in good taste, from the 
quaint weather-vane on the gable to the carved wooden 
seats in the porch, where he declares he will smoke of an 
evening with Austen, while his wife and Georgie talk over 
their own affairs in the sitting-room with the carved beams 
across the ceiling, which is to be furnished with Early 
English” furniture — quaint cabinets and tables, and tall, 
prim, straight- backed chairs. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT, 59 

^^Aiid must we all wear doublets and ruffs and far- 
thingales?” Austen inquires lazily, from the depths of his 
easy-chair in the window. 

‘^Well, no, I won’t insist upon that,” Jack laughs, 
turning his head a little to kiss Lenore’s hand. Neither 
shall I ride about with my wife on a pillion behind me, 
or use beer as my breakfast beverage.” 

The day began at the Vicarage with a confidence, and 
it seems fated to end with another, for, when Jack gets 
up to walk home at about nine o’clock, the vicar keeps 
hold of his hand, and, Lenore being out of the room, tells 
him he has something to say to him which he would 
rather say to-night. 

It is something I think you ought to know,” he adds 
a little feverishly — something Lenore told me herself a 
day or two after she came down here.” 

Go on,” Jack merely answers, when he comes to a 
stand-still. 

Well, you know I used to wonder a little what brought 
her to such a dull old place as this.” 

Yes; I remember your saying something of the kind.” 

It appears that her aunt — old Lady Poigndestre — 
sent her down here to be out of the way of a man for 
whom she thought Lenore cared a little, a scamp and a 
good-for-nothing fellow, who would have broken her heart 
before he had been married to her a week.” 

Who was he?” Jack asks, his color changing, 

‘^Her own cousin. Sir Arthur Poigndestre — as great a 
rascal, I believe, as ever lived.” 

^^Did Lenore care about him?” 

‘^I fancy she did at first — long ago, when she was a 
young girl.” 

She said something to Jack about caring for worthless 
people, and finding out one’s mistake afterward. He re- 
members every Avord of what she said, and his heart begins 
to beat freely again. 


60 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


‘‘I thought it only fair to tell you/’ Austen says, re- 
lieved by the manner in which Jack takes the intelligence^ 

You might blame me afterward, if you ever chanced to 
hear the story.” 

I am glad you told me,” Jack answers gravely. But 
I believe in Lenore too entirely to imagine her capable of 
saying what she did to mo yesterday if she had the faint- 
est vestige of regard for any other man.” 

^‘1 am sure she wouldn’t. Good-night, old fellow; and 
give my love to my dear little girl, and tell her lam 
counting the minutes till I see her — don’t forget.” 

Jack walks down the narrow staircase rather soberly. 
Half way down he meets Lenore coming up. 

Lenore,” he says very tenderly, taking her hands in 
both his own, tell me now if there is any just cause or 
impediment why I should not love you with my whole 
heart and soul?” 

Cause!” she repeats, looking up as he looks down, the 
light from the landing falling full on her fair face and 
flaxen head. 

You are mine, darling, are you not — now and for- 
ever?” 

And Lenore smiles a little carelessly, and answers 
‘‘ Yes.” 


CHAPTEE V. 

A WEEK later the foundations of Jack’s house are dug, 
bricks are being drawn, stone is being quarried, carpenters 
and masons are at work, the green field is spoiled with 
lime and mortar; but it will grow green again, as Jack 
tells Georgie when she laments over the burnt- up grass. 
And a week or two later the pretty Elizabethan structure 
begins to rise from the ground, higher and higher every 
day, for the weather is first-rate for building purposes, 
and Jack will not allow any pause in the work. And lie 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


61 


himself is up long before cockcrow every morning, 
that he may be able to spend an hour or two watching the 
builders, or examining the previous day’s work, before he 
is obliged to attend to his own business at the farm. 
Every afternoon he rides over to the Vicarage to see 
Lenore. 

He is as happy as a king during these long bright 
August days while his house is building, and every even- 
ing which he does not spend at the Vicarage he spends in 
carving wood for mantel-piece and doorway; for Jack has 
a taste for wood-carving, and has a carpenter’s shop of his 
own fitted up at the farm, where he has been accustomed 
to spend the long winter evenings, making or mending, 
as the case may be. He carves out of hard old English 
oak quite an imposing mantel-piece for the sitting-room, 
with the Irving stag’s head and motto, ^^J’ai bonne 
esperance ” across the front, and wonderfully clever 
scroll-work and panels having stags’ heads and game in 
raised carving; even Miss Kendal is fain to confess that 
she never saw bolder wood-carving in any house in Eng- 
land or abroad. And when this is finished he begins 
another for Lenore’s room, with flowers, and beautiful 
angel- heads bending out in high relief from the scroll- 
work, and birds, and the Irving motto again in the same 
quaint old- English letters. And nobody can tell which is 
•handsomest when they are finished — and they are soon 
finished. Jack often spending half the night over his 
darling task. 

Once declared convalescent, the vicar mends very 
rapidly. Before Jack’s walls are a yard high he is able 
to walk up and have a look at them; before they are six 
feet from the ground he has undertaken the services in 
the church again, before the roof is on he is as well as 
ever he was, and spends all his leisure moments in watch- 
ing the building, as he said he should. The pretty 
structure seems to rise almost by magic; so anxious is 


62 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


Jack to get it finished that the men declare laughingly, 
^^The master won’t let the grass grow under our feet 
anyhow!” And Lenore rides up to see it sometimes with 
her lover, though not very often, declaring that she has 
not the same mania for bricks and mortar that Austen 
has, and that it will impress her much more favorably 
when it is finished if she does not see it too often in proc- 
ess of erection. But Georgie climbs the hill very often 
to look at it, either with Austen or her brother, and 
grows quite excited when they first catch a glimpse of its 
quaint red gable over the hawthorn thicket which rises 
between it and the farm. 

Georgie and the vicar are very happy during these 
August and September days. No more contented pair 
of lovers ever gathered peaches from a sunny wall, or 
planted out cuttings — to be transplanted co the Yicarage 
later on — or studied German together, than Georgie and 
the vicar, though they argue with each other sometimes, 
and even quarrel occasionally. 

The vicar is not demonstrative, and Georgie is scarcely 
more than a child still, and some people fancy they do 
not care very much for each other, their wooing is so 
very matter-of-fact. But these people are mistaken. 
The vicar may be cold of manner, and Georgie may some- 
times be what Mrs. Kyve calls frivolous,” but they suit 
each other perfectly, and in reality grow more and more 
in love with each other every day, as Lenore had said 
they would. 

One day, about a week after their engagement, Lenore 
had shown Jack a letter from her aunt Lady Poigndestre. 
It was full of congratulations and kind hopes for the 
future happiness of Lenore and her lover; but Miss Ken- 
dal looked scornful as she flung it into the fire when Jack 
had read it, and said that her aunt might have dissembled 
a little better her joy at having got her off her hands — 
did not Jack think slie might? But Jack, who knew her 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 63 

aunt^s reason for wishing to see her happily married and 
out of harm’s way, only shook his head, smiling, and said 
he was glad she had not tried to induce her to change her 
mind. This letter was written from Marienbad. But on 
the sixteenth of Sei^tember Miss Kendal hears again from 
her aunt, and again shows Jack the letter, as they stand 
at the end of the Vicarage garden in the soft hazy Sep- 
tember sunshine, looking over the low jasmine hedge 
into the leaf-strewn road. 

She wants me to go up to London for a little while,’^ 
Lenore says, looking at the fallen leaves. 

So I see.” 

She says I shall want to look after my things — ” 

^ As you are to be married so soon.’ Lenore, you did 
not tell me you would marry me soon!” 

He has thrown down the letter and taken her two white 
hands in his, a laughing light in his gray eyes. 

I don’t think I said so to my aunt” — reddening a 
little. But I — but no doubt she thinks it will be soon. 
She knows I always hated the idea of a long engagement.” 

What do you call soon, Lenore?” 

Next summer,” she answers. 

‘‘You think I will wait till next summer! Why, the 
house will be finished before Christmas!” 

“You think of nothing but the house” — pouting a 
little. 

“ My darling, I think of it only as a home for you.” 

“ You spend more time there than you do with me!” 

“ Because I sometimes fancy I bore you, loitering about 
here when you may want to be busy. Do you think I 
would willingly spend a moment away from you that I 
could spend with you? I am often half afraid to come 
again so soon.” 

“I was not in earnest,” she says, smiling. “I think 
you are here all the time.” 

“ Why donT you send me away if I bother you?” 


64 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

I do send you away sometimes, don’t I? But about 
going to London, I tliink I must go for a little while. 
Aunt Poigndestre will be offended with me if I refuse.” 

How soon would you think of going?” 

Well, about the. end of the week, perhaps.” 

And this is Tuesday. Lenore, you must jiromise not 
to stay too long away.” 

Aunt Poigndestre wants me to stay till — till I am 
married, evidently.” 

Then you must promise to marry me very soon.” 

I will marry you next June.” 

And^you will remain away from this till June!” 

Xo. I shall probably come back to Matching for 
Christmas.” 

Lenore, you must marry me at Christmas. I will not 
allow you to go to London unless you promise me that.” 

She hesitates, looking at the blue haze under the trees. 
A leaf floats down to the ground, and another, and an- 
other, wavering slowly, a speck of gold or crimson, through 
the calm, still air. 

Promise, darling. Christmas is still three months 
away — you couldn’t expect me to wait any longer than 
that.” 

Very well,” she says at last, at Christmas be it.” 

Jack thanks her rapturously— he would have kissed her 
if they had not been visible both from the Vicarage windows 
and from the road, and if Miss Kendal had not objected 
to kissing, except on very rare occasions. 

But you must not stay away all the time from this till 
Christmas.” 

thought that was one of the conditions!” 

Indeed it was not. How could I live so long without 
seeing you ?” 

It is not so long — only three months.” 

May I go to see you, Lenore?” 

^^Well,” she answers, slowly, looking away at the road 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 65 

again, had as soon you did not. Aunt Poigndestre is 
very eccentric, and never cares to have strangers come to 
the house. But you may write.” 

course I shall write,” Jack says, looking disap- 
pointed. But I am no hand at letter-writing. If I 
may not go to see you, Lenore, you must come down to 
Matching again very soon.” 

may if I can manage it,” 

And you will write to me?” 

Certainly.” 

"^Everyday?” 

My dear Jack, how could I possibly fill a letter to you 
every day?” 

I don’t want a long letter. I only want you to tell 
me you haven’t forgotten me among all your aristocratic 
friends.” 

She shrugs her shoulders, laughing. 

If you can not trust me — ” 

Darling, I do trust you. But don’t you know what 
my life will be to me while you are away?” 

What did you do before I came?” 

think I merely existed. It is only since I have 
known you that I have learned to live.” 

Couldn’t you go back to the old way if — if anything 
happened to me?” 

Never,” he answers, in his curious, passionately deter- 
mined way. ^^If anything happened to you, Lenore, I 
ghould not care to live.” 

“ My dear Jack, everybody says things like that. But 
people lose what they love best in the world very often, 
and don’t die — don’t even seem to relish their dinner less 
a day or two afterward.” 

I have given you my whole heart,” the young man 
exclaims, his passionate tone in curious contrast to hei' 
eareless one. If I lost you, Lenore, I should lose every- 
thing, for my whole life and soul are wrapped up in you.” 


66 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


It is a pity,” she says, speaking more to herself than 
to liim. It is a great pity.” 

A pity! My darling, would I have it otherwise if I 
could?” 

Not now perhaps.” 

^^Not now, or ever! My darling, don’t you know that 
I glory in my love for you?” 

For one moment something very like a look of com- 
punction comes into the beautiful velvety eyes. But it is 
gone again directly, and she is laughing at a little gray 
rabbit which has come boldly out of the hedge and sits 
looking at them among the long damp grasses and the 
fallen red and yellow leaves. 

Miss Kendal has gone up to London to get her trous- 
seau,” the village gossips say, wondering what marvels of 
dresses and millinery will make their appearance in the 
little dark church next winter, when young Mrs. 

"^Irving” comes down with her husband on Sunday morn- 
ings from the pretty new cottage on the hill. The wed- 
ding is to be at Christmas, and Miss Kendal is to be mar- 
ried from the Vicarage, or so at least they suppose. And 
young Irving is just mad on the subject of that new house 
of his — if he goes on at this rate, he will have the furni- 
ture in it in November. But it must be very damp yet, 
though the dry season has been most favorable for build- 
ing, and he was lucky enough to get his walls up before 
there was any appearance of frost. 

It is a very pretty cottage, now that the roof is on and 
the windows are in, and the quaint carved pillars under 
the porch. Over this there is a little projecting room 
which is almost all casement window. This is to be Le- 
nore’s own particular sanctum, filled with her favorite 
books, and with copies of one or two of her favorite pict- 
ures on the walls. And the flower-garden in front of the 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


67 


house is laid out already, and the tennis-ground on the 
only perfectly level spot on the hill. They have even be- 
gun to clear the path through the wood to the Vicarage, 
and to turn the lane into a drive, with quaint carved 
wooden entrance gates to match the house, and a tiny 
lodge, also in the same picturesque old-English style. 

Jack writes to his sweetheart every day, and she writes 
to him once a week. He is forced to be satisfied with 
this, and carries one letter about in his breast-pocket till 
he gets another, and wishes Lenore would tell him more 
about herself when she does write, and less about the en- 
tertainments she goes to, and the books she reads, and the 
great people whose doings may interest her, but about 
whom Jack cares not at all. But beggars can not be 
choosers, and Jack is fain to be satisfied with his lady- 
love’s letters, seeing that he can not force her to put more 
love into them than she thinks meet and proper, or to 
write one whit oftener than she feels inclined. 

About the end of September, however, he gets a letter 
one morning which raises him at once into the seventh 
heaven of delight. Lenore wants to see him. Slie 
thought that she could do very well without him, she says 
prettily, but she finds that she has made a mistake. Could 
he not run up for a day or two? She would not keep 
iiim from his beloved house more than a day or two; bub 
see him she must, for she was beginning to feel lonely and 
distraite. 

Jack walks over to the Vicarage that same afternoon, 
with his love’s dainty letter in his breast-pocket, and a 
look of supreme delight on his frank, handsome face. 

He finds Austen practicing a solemn fugue in the dim 
little church, and sits astride the rail listening to him 
with unusual patience, looking down into the narrow 
aisle and trying to picture Lenore kneeling there in a 
white gown before the altar, himself beside her, as they 
shall kneel some happy day, husband and wife. When 


68 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


the fugue is ended, he tells Austen that he is going up to 
London, by the 5:40 train that same evening, and asks if he 
has any message for Lenore. 

She wants to see you?” Kendal repeats, as they walk 
back to the Vicarage slowly between the grassy graves. 

What is she up to now?” 

Up to!” Jack echoes, almost resentfully. I do not 
know what you mean, Austen. It is not so very strange 
that she should want to see me. Georgie would want to 
see you if you had been three or four weeks away.” 

Oh, Georgie,” the vicar says, in the same doubtful 
way — Georgie is not Lenore!” 

I know she isn’t,” Jack retorts, with an emphasis not 
very flattering to his sister; but Kendal’s manner irritates 
him. Why should he try to damp the pleasure he has 
felt all day, remembering one sentence in the pretty gray- 
and-silver envelope, which is rising and falling now with 
every beat of his strong heart? 

‘^Lenore is a very self-contained person,” Austen goes 
on, half conscious of Jack’s displeasure. She is not 
given to sudden impulses — I mean, she would not give 
way to them — for nothing.” 

^‘If she cares for me enough to marry me, I suppose it 
is nothing very wonderful that she should wish to see 
me,” Jack rejoins, aggrieved. ^^And she says her aunt 
wishes to make my acquaintance — which is very natural 
if she cares for Lenore.” 

I don’t think she cares very much for Lenore.” 

. Kot care for Lenore?” the other questions, as if such 
a thing were barely possible. She must be a strange 
being if she does not care for Lenore.” 

My dear fellow, you can not expect the whole world te 
be as infatuated about her as you are.” 

‘^Itis well for me they are not,” Jack laughs, sud- 
denly restored to good-humor by some memory of his 
own. I should stand a bad chance if all the eligible 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 69 

men she meets in London were as mad about her I am, 
shouldn’t I?” 

That is for you to determine. Don’t you remember 
what Lady Geraldine’s poet-lover says, ^ Behold me, for I 
love you; I am worthy as a king!”’ 

And you have no message?” Jack asks a few minutes 
later, as they stand together at the Vicarage gate. 

^‘None,” Kendal answers, smiling. ‘^Lenore and I 
never send messages to each other, except on business. I 
suppose she will certainly be back here before Christmas?” 

‘^She has promised to marry me before Cliristmas,” 
Jack says, his gray eyes darkening and brightening at the 
same time. ^‘Austen, I do think I am the very happiest 
man on the face of the earth!” 

Long may you think so,” the vicar answers gravely, 
looking not at his friend, but up the long gray road, with 
its double row of autumn-tinted elms and beeches. ‘‘I 
heard a man make that very speech once and only once^ 
before in my life.” 

‘‘ And he soon changed his tune, to judge by your face?” 

I don’t think that state of bliss ever lasts very long — 
do you?” 

don’t know,” Jack says, with the same dreamy" 
smile. think, if I live and if Lenore lives, nothing 
can ever mar my happiness. It sounds very selfish — 
doesn’t it? But I do think nothing can hurt me if I 
have her, no man ever loved a woman better than I love 
her. And to think that she loves me! I often fancy it 
is almost too good to be true.” 

You will be late for the train,” Kendal says, looking 
at his watch. ‘^Well, I shall see you to-morrow night, 
I suppose — you won’t spend another night in town?” 

‘‘I don’t suppose she will want me hanging about her 
aunt’s house. But of course, if I have a chance of seeing 
her, I shall stay as long as slie lets me. Good-by, old 
fellow! Mother and Georgie are expecting you to tea.” 


70 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


He runs down the road, and Austen Kendal returns to 
the church, his hands behind his back and his eyes on the 
ground. He loves Jack Irving, and he does not trust 
Lenore. He knows it will go hard with Jack if she 
throws him over, and yet he dares not mention such a 
thing to him; and, even if he had dared, it is too late. 
Ko warning could save him now; he is utterly wrapped 
up in her, body and soul. And it may be that Lenore 
really intends to marry him. What her reasons may be 
— whether it is pique or that the freshness and unselfish- 
ness of his love have touched her heart— he knows not; 
but, though he doubts her, he can not be sure that she has 
not made up her mind to marry Jack, and lead a peace- 
ful happy life as his wife, even here in dull sleepy Match- 
ing. So, seeing that he might as well speak to the wind 
as tell Jack that Lenore is not all that he fancies her, he 
very wisely holds his tongue. But, as he walks round to 
the church door, his face has a troubled look; and, in- 
stead of going back to the organ to finish lus fugue, he 
locks the door and puts the big key in his pocket, and 
walks away down the road to Matching Farm. 

Hs * * * * 

Jack presents himself at the door of Lady Poigndestre’s 
house in Park Lane at an unconscionably early hour the 
next morning — that is, unconscionable for a visitor in 
such a locality. But lie finds Miss Kendal waiting for 
him in the great cool drawing-room, clad in a gown of 
some soft, silky, cream-colored stuff with knots of azure 
ribbon down the front, and a string of big blue beads 
round her slim white throat. 

I knew you would come,” she says, submitting to his 
strong clasp for an instant, and looking up at him with 
lovely smiling eyes, her cheeks flushed, a happy smile on 
her sweet lips. 

Jack thinks he has never seen her look so beautiful be- 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 71 

fore, and thinks also, poor wretch, that it is his coining 
which has made her glad! 

Of course I came,’^ he answers joyously. ‘‘Would I 
not have come long ago if I thought that you would let 
me in?” 

“I wanted to see you. And it was not that — ” 

“But that is enough,” Jack interrupts her, bending 
his head to kiss the scented golden locks on her forehead. 
“You can not improve on that.” 

“I want to show you to Aunt Poigndestre,” Lenore 
says, laughing as she disengages herself from his strong, 
young arms and stands before him, looking up into his 
dazzled eyes. “I fancy she half believes you are only a 
myth. She as much as told me so a few days ago, be- 
cause I — because I — ” 

“ I hope not because you were letting somebody else 
make love to you?” Jack says, with quick jealousy, and 
yet.only half in earnest, though his eyes devour the fair 
face eagerly, passionately — the sweet pink cheeks, the 
lovely laughing eyes. 

“Is it very likely I should do such a thing,” Lenore 
answers, demurely, “when — I love you?” 

“I hope not!” Jack exclaims, stretching out his glad 
arms again; but, Lenore evading them this time, he is 
obliged to be content with looking at her. 

“ And how does the house get on?” 

“Very well — only not half fast enough. And tlie 
trousseau f” 

“Oh, the trousseau will be ready!” she laughs. 
“ Come — there is the luncheon-bell! I must introduce 
my mythological lover to her ladyship; she will think you 
substantial enough when she sees you, I hope. She won’t 
shake hands with you, or I would ask you to give her a 
squeeze, which would prove to her very unequivocally that 
you were real desh and blood — not a mere creature of my 


72 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


imagination, as she had the impertinence to insinuate the 
other day.” 

Laughing, she leads the way down-stairs, and Jack fol- 
lows her, a little bewildered by the splendor of the house — 
the deep-piled carpets, tlie statues in their crimson niches, 
the carved oak, the pictures, the servants in plush and 
powder — wondering a little sadly how Lenore will be 
able to content herself in the nest that he is building for 
her, which, pretty as it is and will be, is yet so small and 
simple compared to this house down whose broad stair- 
case and along whose tessellated hall she passes like a 
princess, too much accustomed to the beauty and the 
splendor of her surroundings to give them a second 
thought. 

In the dining-room he is introduced to Lady Poigndes- 
tre, a fat, rather vulgar- looking woman of sixty or there- 
abouts, with a very red face, dressed in a purple gown 
and cap-ribbons, and apparently wrapped up in the three 
little poodles ensconced in her lap and in the folds of her 
skirt. 

With momentary curiosity she puts up her gold-rimmed 
eyeglass to look at her niece’s fiance, but scarcely takes 
the trouble to be civil to him during the long meal of 
many courses which is called luncheon in this house. If 
it had not been that Lenore is sitting opposite to him — 
beautiful Lenore, with her golden ruffled head and azure 
ribbons and half- deprecatory, half-comical glances — 
Jack would have heartily wished himself back at Match- 
ing Farm. 

After luncheon Lenore grants him one whole hour of her 
society in the big drawing-room, shows him photographs 
and all the curiosities they have picked up in their foreign 
travels, and takes him round to look at the pictures, ex- 
plaining them to him, naming the painters who have 
painted them. And, while she talks, Jack looks at her 
with all his heart in his gray eyes. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


'3 


She seems so much too good for him, this benutiful 
princess — she seems so much at home among all these rare 
and costly things! He would never have had the courage 
to ask her to be his wife if he had met her first here, he 
thinks — she had seemed a long way above them all down 
at Matching; but there she had, with such infinite tact,, 
adapted herself to their simple ways, had made herself so 
much at home at the Vicarage and even at the farm, had 
so seldom alluded to the life she led with her aunt, that 
the young man had been unconsciously led to trust his 
modest worth and to believe that he could make her 
happy as his wife. 

Lenore does not ask him to come again to-morrow — 
speaks indeed of his seeing Georgie to-night, sending her 
love to her and to his mother. She does not say much 
about Christmas — he can not get her to say much about 
their marriage; but she smiles at him in the old bewilder- 
ing way, and Jack is obliged to be content* 

Just before he leaves — at about four o’clock — the draw- 
ing-room door opens suddenly, and Sir Arthur Poigndes- 
tre walks into the room. Lenore turns to the new-comer, 
with a look which rather puzzles Jack, half annoyed, 
half deprecating; and there is a very bright color in her 
cheeks as she introduces the young men to each other. 
Sir Arthur Poigndestre makes himself very agreeable 
during the few minutes that he remains in the room, 
talking to Jack about horses and hunting. Jack studies 
him rather wistfully when, just before he goes, he walks 
over to the window where his cousin is standing and says 
a few words to her in a lower tone. Not that he is jealous; 
but then Lenore had once fancied that she cared for him, 
and he does not greatly care to remember even that. 
Poigndestre is a good-looking fellow enough, dark and 
thin as a Spaniard, with a pair of sleepy black eyes. But 
he has the look of a man who lives very hard — a worn, 
supercilious Uase look — and Austen Kendal has described 


74 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


his temper as something fearful. He is well and care- 
fully dressed, and has a peculiarly distinguished look; for 
the first time in his life Jack is troubled about the fit of 
his own garments and the style of his cravat, and wishes 
he had not come up to town in such thick boots. 

But Lenore does not seem to have noticed any short- 
comings in her lover’s dress or manner when she turns to 
him, smiling, the instant her cousin leaves the room. 
His confidence in himself returns in a moment — his con- 
fidence in her was never shaken for a moment. He finds 
it very hard to tear himself away when the parting hour 
comes; but he does tear himself away, and for the next 
week or two lives on the recollection of those few hours 
spent in his love’s society, recalling again and again her 
every word and look, and wondering why he had not said 
more about his own great love — Lenore however would 
never let him say half he wanted to say on that subject, 
and he was never particularly clever at putting his feel- 
ings into words. 

♦ * * * * 

It is about the beginning of October when Lenore men- 
tions in one of her letters that her aunt is ill. Jack 
would have wished to know whether the cousin of whom 
Austen had spoken were living in his mother’s house or 
not; but, as Lenore never mentions his name in her let- 
ters, he thinks it is not probable, particularly as his 
mother had not wished him to be with Lenore. Of 
course her being engaged would make a difference; but 
still Jack does not think he is in London; in any case he 
does not care to put the question, since Lenore did not 
choose to tell him of her own. accord. But, now that 
Lady Poigndestre is ill, he supposes her son is with her, 
and he begins to wish that Lenore would come back to 
the Vicarage — not that he distrusts her, but he can not 
bear to think of her as in the same house with this man, 
who, if he was once her lover, as Austen had said, must 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 75 

surely be her lover still. Nobody who had ever loved her 
could ever grow entirely indifferent to Lenore. 

A week after this letter lie hears again — the letter is 
brought up to him witli his breakfast to the cottage, 
wliere he has been working with the carpenters since day- 
light. 

The deep black border of the envelope prepares him for 
the news it contains. Lady Poigndestre is dead — has been 
dead since the day succeeding that on which Lenore wrote 
announcing her illness — and Lenore is staying with some 
friends in London until after the funeral. She does not 
speak of coming back to Matching; but then the letter is 
very short — only a few lines. Of course she must be com- 
ing back to Matching. Her brother’s house will be her 
home now, till that happy day when Jack shall lead her 
by the hand into a home of her own. 

Austen Kendal goes to London for the funeral, but 
comes back the next day, it being Saturday, and he hav- 
ing made no arrangements about a substitute for the Sun- 
day services. Jack meets him at the railway station, 
anxious to hear what Lenore has said about coming down. 
But Lenore has said nothing about coming down; she was 
staying at the D’Esterres’s, and seemed rather cut up 
about her aunt’s death, Austen thought. He did not like 
to insist upon bringing her down, though he told her the 
sooner she came the better. 

Yes, he has seen Poigndestre. He was at his mother’s 
funeral. No, he did not think he went to the D’Esterres’s 
much. Lenore spoke of him as being about to leave town 
immediately his mother’s affairs were settled. His mother 
had left everything to him; he had already run through 
his own fortune, and his mother’s money would set him 
on his legs again. She could have left it all away from 
him — every penny of it. She had threatened to cut him 
off with a shilling if he had insisted upon marrying Le- 
nore; but the money is his now, to do what he likes with 


76 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

it — and pretty ducks and drakes’’ he will make of it, 
Austen adds, who has a very bad opinion of his cousin — 
everybody says he will have spent every farthing of it be- 
fore the year is out. 

And she did not say on what day she would come 
down?” Jack asks wistfully, after a minute or two. 

‘^No. I wanted her to settle a day; but she said she 
would write.” 

How was she looking? Well?” 

She looked cut up, I thought; but then she has gone 
through a good deal. My aunt died very suddenly, and 
Lenore had a great deal of business to transact, people to 
interview, and letters to write, and all that.” 

T suppose so; but she will soon recover her cheerful- 
ness when she comes down to Matching.” 

So I told her,” Austen Kendal says; but he looks 
rather grave as he walks beside his friend up the quiet 
leaf -strewn road. 

And what did she say to that?” Jack inquires, who^ 
lover-like, would like to hear every word she said, if 
Austen could only remember them. 

Lenore is an odd girl,” the vicar says musingly; I 
never understood her, even as a child.” 

^^If you mean by odd that she is unlike other people, I 
certainly agree with you,” Jack observes, not half satisfied 
with his friend’s tone, yet at a loss to understand what it 
is that makes him dissatisfied. And I am sure I don’t 
wish her otherwise. I don’t believe there is another girl 
in the world half so good, or clever, or beautiful as Le- 
nore.” 

The world is a very wide place. Jack!” 

Oh, you are her brother!” Jack laughs a little un- 
easily. You think Georgie prettier, I dare say, though 
Georgie isn’t fit to hold a candle to her!” 

""How is Georgie?” the vicar asks, very willing to 
change the subject. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 77 

Oh, she is very well!’’ 

And your mother?” 

My mother is very well. Did Lenore say — ” 

My dear fellow, I don’t think I exchanged fifty words 
with Lenore altogether. You forget that I was only two 
days in London, and spent most of one of those at a 
funeral!” 

I hope she will soon write,” Jack says, sighing, as 
they reach the Vicarage gate. 

I hope so,” Austen answers, looking at the cheerful 
glow of firelight in the parlor window, and picturing 
Oeorgie to himself waiting for him there, as she should 
wait for him in the pleasant autumn evenings when she 
should be his wife. 

But Jack is thinking of Lenore as he saw her first in 
that very room, in a long white gown, with a bunch of 
over-blown pink roses at her throat. 

Two days pass, three days, and yet there is no letter. 
Jack begins to feel very anxious, fearing that Lenore may 
be ill. But Austen reassures him on that point; Lenore 
seemed in perfect health when he was in London — prob- 
ably she is having mourning made, or something of the 
kind. This satisfies Jack for another day or two; but at 
the end of that time he writes a very urgent letter to 
Lenore, begging of her to let him know at once how she 
is, as he is really anxious, and will go up to London im- 
mediately if he does not hear. 

This brings an answer by return of post, laughing at 
him for his anxiety, and telling him all the London news 
— as it interests Miss Kendal — but saying not a word 
about coming home. 

Jack writes again, and at the end of a week receives 
another letter — exactly the old style of correspondence; 
but Miss Kendal does not speak of returning to Matching, 
and systematically ignores all Jack’s inquiries on that 
point, as she ignores his hints that Christmas is not very 


78 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

far off, and that the house is nearly ready for its mistress. 
And so the days go on till November — busy days for Jack, 
what with his farm, and his new house, and his shooting, 
but not too busy to prevent his longing with a perfect 
passion of longing to see tlie girl who has promised to be 
his wife before the end of the year. 

The vicar and Georgie are not to be married till March. 
Mrs. Irving would not hear of an earlier date being fixed 
than that, though Austen pleaded hard to be married on 
the same day as his friend. Georgie will be eighteen in 
March, and eighteen is early enough to undertake the 
duties of a wife, and above all of a clergyman’s wife — or 
so Georgie’s mother thinks. And the vicar is fain to sub- 
mit, though the winter evenings that would have passed 
so delightfully if his pretty little wife had been sitting 
beside him, as he had sometimes hoped she would, will 
seem very long to him. Still it is pleasant to see her hem- 
ming away industriously at the beautiful damask napery 
which her mother has given her, and to help her to write 
labels for the preserves which are to go to the Vicarage 
by and by. And she is learning to net curtains for the 
Vicarage windows, her mother having stoutly resisted 
all her cajolery to induce her to give away some of the 
pairs she had netted for Jack’s house before Jack’s house 
was anything but the ‘^baseless fabric ” of a dream. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Oh the third of November, while the vicar is at break- 
fast, Jack enters with an open letter in his hand. 

Read that,” he says, and turns away to the fire, lean- 
ing his elbow on the mantel and his head on his hand. 

But the vicar thinks very little of the latter, he is so 
much disturbed by the expression of his friend’s face. It 
looks like the face of a man who has received a bad blow. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


79 


Why, Jack, old fellow,” he exclaims, getting up from 
the table hurriedly, what is the matter!^ You look as 
if you had seen a ghost! I hope nothing has happened at 
the farm.” 

Can’t you read?” Jack says, in a changed hoarse voice, 
and the vicar reads the letter. 

I can’t make head or tail of it!” he says, after a mo- 
ment’s puzzled pause. What does she mean?” 

That’s what I want you to tell me. AVhat does she 
mean?” 

When did you get this?” 

Just now — on my way to the mill.” 

The two men looked at each other fora moment or two 
in absolute silence. 

I can’t make it out,” Austen says at last, turning the 
paper over in his hand. Had you any quarrel, or any- 
thing?” 

We had no quarrel.” 

When did you hear from her last?” 

About a week ago — a week yesterday.” 

And she wrote just as usual?” 

Just as usual.” 

I can’t make it out,” the vicar repeats, his hand 
shaking a little as he reads the letter through again from 
beginning to end. Jack standing by the mantel-piece. 
^‘This looks like breaking off tlie engagement, Jack!” he 
says at last. 

So I thought,” the other answers, in a dull dazed way. 

^‘My poor fellow,” Austen says, laying his hand on his 
arm, a great trouble in his own eyes, if that’s the case, 
she’s not worth breaking your heart about.” 

I can not believe it,” the other exclaims, in a strange, 
altered voice — can not believe it!” 

can very well believe it,” says Austen, shaking his 
head. I never trusted her.” 

‘‘And I trusted her as I trust Heaven!” 


80 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK -BUILT. 


Yes — it was there you made the mistake.^’ 

She is only trying me P Jack says a little wildly, 
walking away from him, up and down the room. ^^She 
can’t be in earnest. She just wants to see how I will take 
it — they like to try their power over a fellow — to-morrow 
she will write and say it was all a joke.” 

Jack,” the vicar says solemnly, ^^you are a brave fel- 
low, and you must bear it as well as you can for your 
mother’s sake and for Georgie’s. But I will not buoy you 
up with any false hopes. She means every word of this 
letter I hold in my hand,” 

How do you know?” Jack cries, turning upon him 
fiercely. What do you know about it more than I know 
myself?” 

1 know Lenore better than you do, and I tell you I 
never trusted her one pin’s point.” 

Don’t say a word against her!” the other retorts 
furiously. If she chooses to — to throw me over, why — 
why shouldn’t she do it? I would kill any man who dared 
to say a word against her to me.” 

Austen Kendal takes no notice of his violence, so far as 
it touches himself. He hears him out, and then he an- 
swers him, in a calm, even tone, laying his hand on his 
sleeve: 

I am not going to utter any platitudes about resigna- 
tion and all that — no one was ever resigned yet till 
they had not strength to kick against the pricks any 
longer. But I am going to remind you that you are a 
man. Jack, and should bear your sorrow like a man, and 
not like a child. Would a brave soldier rave and rant 
like this on the eve of a battle? Not if he knew he was 
certain to bite the dust the next morning!” 

I am not raving or ranting. But I want to know 
what she means by that letter. That is what I want to 
know,” Jack answers, looking him straight in the face. 

Exactly what she says, 1 expect,” Kendal tells him. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


81 


with a great scorn* in his deep eyes. She thinks that 
she could never make you happy — that you are entirely 
unsuited to each other — that she was mad and blind not 
to have seen it long ago, and she asks you to release her 
from her engagement exactly as she might ask you to re- 
lease her from an engagement to dine with you, or to 
dance a galop with you, or any other trifling thing of the 
kind.’^ 

And yet you are silly enough to fancy she is in ear- 
nest!” Jack laughs, his eager, burning eyes fastened on 
Austen’s face. 

She is in earnest — as much in earnest as she ever was 
in her life.” 

But no one but the most utterly worthless woman in 
the world could turn round and treat a man who loved her 
like that!” 

‘^And I believe her to be utterly worthless,” Kendal 
says, bitterly. ^‘It is a hard thing to say of a man’s own 
sister, but I believe it to be true. I care for your little 
finger. Jack, more than I care for her* whole body, and I 
tell you Lenore’s heart is as hard and cold as that mantel- 
piece, and just as likely to feel for your sorrow or for 
mine.” 

‘^1 don’t believe it!” Jack exclaims, furiously. ^'Tf 
an angel from heaven came and told me she could treat 
me like that, I wouldn’t believe it! Why, hasn’t she said 
she loved me a hundred times over in this very room?” 

Kendal is silent for sheer shame and grief and anger 
that the woman who has done this thing could be any- 
thing to him. 

And she does love me!” the poor fellow says, with a 
sudden, ecstatic smile. ^^My own beautiful darling — as 
if I could doubt her just because she chooses to try me 
with a foolish little joke like that! Wouldn’t I be a fool 
to doubt her, Austen, for a trifling little thing likethat?’^ 


82 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


The vicar walks away to the window, and stands there 
looking out. 

Give me back the letter, Austen/’ Jack says, after a 
minute or two. She would be angry if she thought I 
left it lying about. ” 

^^It is on the table,” Austen tells him, glancing round 
at it as he might at some poisonous thing. 

Jack picks it up and puts it into its envelope. Then 
he buttons up his coat. 

Where are you going?” the vicar asks, watching him 
uneasily. 

I am going up to London. Do you think I could let 
a day pass without hearing her say that this letter was 
only a joke?” 

1 should write if I were you,” Austen suggests. 

And wait two days for an answer? My dear Austen, 
is it possible that you can be in love?” 

^^Then, if you must go, I will go with you.” 

Oh, you need not trouble yourself! I shall not stay 
more than a day or two in London — I don’t think she 
would care to have me bothering round there when it 
isn’t her own house, you know, and I shouldn’t care to 
be in London if I couldn’t see her. But I am obliged to 
you all the same for offering to come with me, old boy, 
particularly as I know you have your sermon to write.” 

But I would rather go with you. Jack, if you don’t 
mind.” 

What for?” the other asks suspiciously — so suspicious- 
ly that Kendal thinks it is better not to insist. 

Very well,” he says a little coldly; but at the same 
time he makes up his mind to follow him up to London 
by the next train. 

^^It is all a mistake,” Jack observes calmly, putting on 
his hat. I will call in on my way home the day after 
to-morrow. Good-by till then.” 

Quite stealthily he walks out through the hall into the 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


88 


garden, opens the gate, and steps out into the road. And 
Austen Kendal stands staring after him, uncertain 
whether to risk his anger by following him or to allow 
him to travel up to London alone in that strange dazed 
kind of way. But there was a flash in Jack’s gray eyes 
when he offered to go with him which made the vicar 
hesitate; the memory of it makes him hesitate now till 
the opportunity is lost. It will take Jack, at his best 
pace, fully teu minutes to walk to the railway station, and 
the train will leave in twelve; and the vicar is still in his 
morning coat and slippers. He will swallow his break- 
fast, and follow him to town in the 11:30. Jack will 
scarcely think of going to the D’Esterres’s so late in the 
evening as five, and he will not reach London till ten 
minutes to five. Kendal knows the hotel he generally 
puts up at in London, and will be sure to find him there 
when he arrives in town himself at a quarter past eight. 

At exactly a quarter past five that evening Jack knocks 
at the door of the D’Esterres’s house in Berkeley Street. 
The great splendidly-furnished drawing-rooms seem to 
him to be packed full of visitors when he is ushered in; 
but Lenore comes to him immediately, and takes him to 
Mrs. H’Esterre, to whom she introduces him as ^‘a great 
friend of my brother Austen’s.” Mrs. D’Esterre, who 
has probably never heard of the young man’s existence 
before, is nevertheless pleasantly polite to him; for Jack 
is a handsome fellow, and can hold his own even in that 
crowded room. 

He supposes Mrs. D’Esterre knows all about him — such 
a great friend of Lenore’s must surely know all about her 
engagement — but he troubles his head very little as to 
what she thinks of him, or any of her aristocratic friends 
think. He sees only one face, hears only one voice, longs 
only for the moment when he can say to her, Lenore, 
you were not in earnest when you wrote that letter.” 

She seemed a little startled when he first came in; but 


84 : 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


her cheeks recovered their color in a moment — very likely 
she guessed he would come. And she looks very well, he 
thinks, and moves about among all these people with tlie 
same grand air with which she moved among the simple folk 
lit Matching, talking and smiling in the same cold bright 
way, and looking exquisitely lovely in her long trailing 
black gown, with a string of black carved beads round 
her throat. She hM met Jack as calmly — after that first 
startled glance — as if they had parted only yesterday, with 
a cool friendly clasp of her firm white hand. But she 
does not seem in any hurry to come back to him; nor do 
the visitors show any signs of taking their departure, 
though Mrs. D’Esterre has moved away to some other of 
the guests, and Jack is left alone. 

He bears it for a good while, hoping that' Lenore will 
take pity on him and come to him of her own accord. 
But the minutes pass by, and still she is engrossed by one 
old dowager or another, or deep in conversation with some 
military-looking man with a ribbon in his button-hole, or 
surrounded by a group of girls. Jack begins to feel hurt 
at last. He has not spoken three words to her for nearly 
two months, and she will not trouble herself to make an 
opportunity of speaking to him now, even for a minute; 
she will not even look at him, though she must know his 
eager eyes are all the time devouring her face. 

Lenore,” he says at last, coming behind her as she 
stands near the door- way, talking and laughing with an aes- 
thetic-looking young man whose superabundant hair may be 
supposed to make up for the deficiency of nose from which 
his pallid and thin countenance undoubtedly suffers, 
can’t stand this any longer; I am going.” 

^‘1 could see your patience visibly evaporating,” Lenore 
smiles, opening and shutting her great black fan. 
am only surprised that you managed to breathe such an 
uncongenial atmosphere for so long.” 

Jack can not say what hope has sustained him through 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 85 

the ordeal, as the aesthetic young man has shown no sign 
of resigning his place beside Miss Kendal; nor does she 
seem to have any desire that he should. Jack also feels 
that he could not in any circumstances say what he wants 
to say to her here in this crowded room, even if she gave 
him an opportunity. Even now his voice trembles as he 
wishes her good-by. 

Are you really going?’’ she asks, looking up into the 
joung man’s troubled eyes as he looks down. 

Don’t you think it is time?” — smiling a little bitterly. 

Well, very few people care for this sort of thing. I 
am always glad myself when Mrs. D’Esterres’s ^ Fridays ’ 
are over; but it is ^ part of the serious business of fashion- 
able life,’ as somebody or other says.” 

Good-by,” Irving says, holding out his hand. 

‘‘ Good-by — if you must go.” 

Not a word of coming again! Not a hint of any desire 
to see him on the morrow. Not a single regret that they 
have not had an opportunity of saying three words to eacli 
other after all these months! Jack’s heart, which has been 
buoyed up since the morning by his obstinate determina- 
tion not to take her letter seriously, becomes suddenly as 
heavy as lead. 

I shall call to-morrow,” he says, with a courage born 
of that strange pang. AYhether she likes it or not, he will 
call again to-morrow. 

To-morrow?” Miss Kendal repeats musingly. To- 
morrow we are going to Lady Maple’s matinee musicale.'^^ 

At what hour?” 

Oh, quite early! That kind of entertainment is al- 
ways fixed for some abominably early hour!” 

Not before twelve o’clock?” Jack inquires, in the same 
sullen, stubborn way. 

Oh, no— not before twelve!” she allows reluctantly, 
with a shrug of her slim shoulders. 

Then I shall call at eleven,” Jack says, holding 


86 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


out his hand again, a very determined light in his gray 
eyes. 

Miss Kendal perhaps thinks that, since an explana- 
tion is inevitable — as she must have known all along it 
would be — the sooner it is over the better, though, like 
a coward, her first instinct has been to put off the evil 
day. 

‘^Very well,’^ she says coldly. ^“^But do not be later 
than eleven.’’ 

If Jack had not steadfastly determined in his own mind: 
to believe in Lenore until she herself absolutely cut the 
ground of his belief from under his feet, he would have 
been ready to shoot himself as he went down the great 
crimson carpeted staircase, through the lighted hall, and 
out of the house, into the dull street, damp with No- 
vember fog. But he trusts her yet — notwithstanding 
Austen’s bitter words, notwithstanding her own letter, 
notwithstanding the icy coldness of her manner to him 
this evening, he trusts her yet. 

As a drowning man clings to a straw, he holds on to 
his faitli in her with a despairing determination born 
of the knowledge that, when he lets her go, all will be 
lost. If he once allows himself to doubt her, it is all 
up with him; but, till he hears from her own lips that she 
was in earnest when she wrote that letter yesterday, he 
will not doubt her, he will not let so much as a sus- 
picion of treachery enter his mind. 

At exactly eleven o’clock the next morning he presents 
himself again at the door of the house in Berkeley Street, 
and a few minutes later he is standing with Lenore 
alone in a prettily furnished room, with a conservatory 
filled with fiowers opening out of it, and a pleasant fire 
burning brightly on the tiled hearth. 

You are punctual,” she says, as she holds out her 
hand. 

They are both very pale as they stand there looking at 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


87 


each other, even though the light of the fire is stronger 
than the light of the dull November morning, and throws 
a warm glow over their faces and figures as they stand to- 
gether on the rug. Lenore wears a black gown thick 
with jet beads, a high black ruffle round her throat, and 
little black ear-rings in her ears — her shoes even sparkle 
with jet embroidery; but the unrelieved blackness only 
enhances the fair paleness of her complexion and the gold 
of her ruffled blonde head. 

Punctual!” Jack repeats, looking down at her with all 
his heart in his haggard eyes. Do you know that I have 
been counting the very minutes since I saw you last?” 

How foolish!” — with an attempt at a smile. But she 
looks away from him into the fire. 

Lenore, I can noc endure this suspense any longer — 
it is killing me! You did not mean what you wrote in 
that letter? It was all a joke, wasn’t it? You just did it 
to see what I would do?” 

His eager eyes are devouring her face — his hand, as it 
closes feverishly on hers, shakes as if he had the ague. 
But still he laughs — a strange incoherent laugh. 

I did mean it,” she answers deliberately, but still 
without meeting his eyes. ^‘It cost me a good deal to 
write that letter. Jack; but I should never have written 
it if I had not meant every word.” 

He stares at her like a man suddenly bereft of his 
mind. 

I have felt for a long time that we were entirely un- 
suited to each other,” Miss Kendal goes on, her voice 
growing more steady with every word. We could never 
make each other happy — we have no tastes in common. 
The life that seems good and pleasant to you would be in- 
tolerable to me; the pursuits that you enjoy would bore 
me to death.” 

He is silent for a moment when she pauses. Then he 
says quietly enough— 


88 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


Wlien did you find out all this?” 

believe I knew it always. But I forgot it — for 
awhile.” 

But, if you love me, Lenore, all those things can 
make no difference to you.” 

She winces a little, turning away her head. 

And you said you loved me, you know. You would 
never have said it if it had not been true.” 

I — I suppose I thought I loved you — ” 

Then it was not the real thing this time either?” 
‘‘ISTo,” she answers, gathering courage. The first 
was the real love, after all.” 

I do not understand you,” he says coldly. Do you 
mean to say that, when you told me you loved me, you 
were telling a downright and deliberate lie?” 

You use very harsh words, Mr. Irving.” 

^^luse the word Avhich expresses exactly the thing I 
mean. Were you lying to me when you told me you 
loved me better than any one else in the world?” 

You — you liked me so much I — I could not help 
liking you a little.” 

Enough to destroy me?” the young man exclaims, 
with such a concentration of fury and bitterness that even 
Lenore Kendal is somewhat terrified. 

Don’t use such terrible expressions,” she says, shiver- 
ing a little. hate tragedy, on or off the stage. I al- 
ways felt more inclined to laugh at it than anything else.” 

^^To laugh at it!” he repeats vaguely. Then, with 
sudden change of look and manner, he falls upon his 
knees before her and covers her hands with wild kisses, 
with hot burning tears. Oh, Lenore, my darling, my 
own love, tell me that you are only laughing at me, that 
you are not in earnest, that you told the truth when you 
said you loved me, on that moonlight night on Matching 
•Hill!” 

It was not the truth,” the girl says, pulling away her 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


89 


hands from him, wet with his tears, I never loved 
you; I told you I loved you only to serve my own pur- 
poses. Yes, I want you to hate me — it will be the best 
thing for you; and you could not hate me more or think 
worse of me than I deserve.^’ 

I think no evil of you. You are the one woman I 
love in the world; if an angel from heaven accused you 
of such wickedness, I would laugh him to scorn!’’ 

Then you would be wrong,” she says coldly and de- 
liberately, for I made a tool of you to further my own 
ends,” 

What ends?” 

Jack,” she says very gravely, looking down at the 
young man’s anguished face with some small shadow of 
compassion in her lovely eyes, I have treated you shame- 
fully, abominably; no w^oman ever treated man worse than 
I have treated you. But I am going to throw myself on 
your mercy, to adjure you, by the love I believe you bear 
for me, to deal with me as I certainly have not dealt with 
you I” 

Go on — go on!” he exclaims, still kneeling before 
her, still holding her hands in his, still covering them 
with passionate kisses. forgive you already for any 
wrong* you may have done me; I will not remember any- 
thing if you will only tell me that you will not forsake 
me now.” 

But I have^ forsaken you. Jack, I never loved you, 
never had any intention of being your wife. I engaged 
myself to you as a blind, to put them off the scent. It 
was all a plot, from beginning to end, to make Aunt 
Poigndestre believe I had forgotten somebody else.” 

He rises from his knees and stands before her, the dark 
eyelashes still wet, but the grand gray eyes lurid with 
passion. 

And you led me on to further such an end as that? 


90 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

Yon made a tool of me, a blind, a cat’s-paw — you never 
loved me at all?” 

^^How could I love you when I loved — somebody 
else?” 

You loved him all the time?” 

‘^1 think it is the one redeeming point in my character 
that I am capable of that one unselfish feeling,” the girl 
says, with a strange cold smile. Yes, I loved him all 
the time. And yet I believe he is not one-thousandth 
part as worthy of such great love as you are; he is as full 
of faults as you are of perfections; and yet I do not care 
for you, and I love him more than my own soul.” 

Jack Irving stands staring at her, his arms hanging 
down by his sides, his face as ashen gray as the face of 
the dead, and as rigid, except for the tremble of the lip 
under the drooping fair mustache. 

‘^That is enough,” lie says at last; ^^you can not add to 
that, or take away from it. But let me tell you this — you 
have done for me as surely as if you had put a knife into 
my heart.” 

She looks at him pitifully enough. He is so tall, so 
straight, so handsome, and his eyes, through all their fury, 
are so full of despairing love for herself. But his anguish 
can not move her. How could it, since she loves /mother 
man with her whole heart and soul? 

^^It is not so bad as that. Jack,” she says, laying her 
hand on his arm not unkindly. You will bless the day 
yet when I left you free to marry some good girl who 
will love you as much as you fancy now that you love 
me. ” 

Stop!” he exclaims, as if the sound of her voice 
hurt him; and, as if its light touch scorched him, he 
shakes her hand from his sleeve. But lie stares at her 
face as if he could never drag his eyes away, hungrily,, 
madly. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 91 

Oh, woman-eyes that have smiled! Oh, woman-lipS that have 
kissed 

The life-blood out of my heart with your ghostly sorceries!” 

We are only giving ourselves unnecessary pain by 
all this/’ Lenore says, turning away to the mantel-piece. 

Jack, 1 must send you away now. And all I can say 
is that I hope you will feel by and by as if you could 
forgive me — it will be a long time before I can forgive 
myself.” 

He turns away, without another word. Without 
another look, he opens the door and, closing it quietly 
behind him, goes down the grand staircase and through 
the hall. The footman steps forward to open the door 
for him, and once more he is out in the dull London 
street. 

Just as he goes down the hall-door steps another man 
is coming up — a slight man in a light-colored overcoat, 
with a sallow face like a Spaniard, black eyes, and a small 
black mustache. For one instant their eyes meet, then 
Sir Arthur Poigndestre runs up the steps, whistling softly 
to himself, and stands to look after Jack as he walks down 
the street. And Jack pulls his hat down over his eyes 
and thrusts his hands deep into his pockets, and won- 
ders what this strange numb feeling is which has already 
deadened the deep dull aching at his heart. 

At the corner of the street he meets Austen Kendal. 
There could be no mistaking that stooping figure, nor the 
gaunt clever face, nor the long hair, nor the spectacles. 

You in London?” 

Yes; I came up last night. Called at your hotel this 
morning, and heard you were out. Guessed where you 
were, and came on here to look for you. Jack, my poor 
fellow, tell me how you have fared.” 

It is all over,” Jack answers quietly, as Kendal takes 
his arm and peers anxiously into his face. We may as 


92 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


well go home by the next train, Austen — unless you have 
any business to keep you in town.’^ 


CHAPTEK VIL 

Jack bears it very well, after all — so well that the 
vicar begins to think that perhaps it was all for the best 
Lenore was not the wife for him; if she had married him, 
in all probability she would not have been happy; nor 
could she have made liim happy when once his mad in- 
fatuation for her had cooled down. They had so few 
tastes in common — Lenore had been brought up to lead 
such a different kind of life — and he had never liked the 
engagement, though he had not dared to say as much to 
Jack; nor had he thought it advisable to say it when once 
the mischief was done. But all this does not make him 
better pleased with Lenore. She has acted basely, dis- 
honorably, abominably; he has held no communication 
with her since, nor does he intend to hold communication 
with her. She may be his own sister; but it is not her 
fault that Jack has not been driven beside himself by her 
horrible treatment. He loves Jack as David loved Jona- 
than; and the woman who could treat him as Lenore has 
treated him could not but be abominated by him were she 
his sister a thousand times over. Sometimes the vicar 
thinks that he ought to forgive her — that if she writes to 
ask him to forgive her, he must forgive her trespass as he 
would be forgiven. But it will go very hard with him. 
When he thinks of Jack’s face as he saw it on that morn^ 
ing when he had come in with the letter— as he saw it at 
the corner of Berkeley Street on that day when Lenore 
had given him his coup cle grace — he feels as if he could 
never forgive her as long as he lives. 

But Jack is a brave fellow, and he has pulled himself 
together. The vicar, watching him anxiously day by day^ 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

is unutterably thankful to see that he goes about his 
business much as usual, attends to the farm, is gentle and 
affectionate to his mother and Georgie, by and by grows 
even cheerful — the wound could have been only skin-deep 
after all. Or else Lenore herself has worked the cure — 
her cruelty and falsehood healed the wound her grace a-nd 
beauty inflicted, her base treachery opened his eyes to the 
value of the thing he prized, and reconciled him to its 
loss. However that may be. Jack certainly comes and 
goes about the farm and the village very much as he was 
wont, attends to his business, rides and shoots, and walks 
over to the Vicarage for a smoke and a chat in the even- 
ing— when the vicar is not at the farm — .very much as he 
did before the star- eyed vicar’s sister rose on his horizon,, 
before the day when he walked into the little dark Vicar- 
age parlor and found his fate standing there in a white 
gown, with a bunch of over-blown pink roses under her 
chin. 

But he never goes near the new house. The work- 
people have been sent away, the orders for furniture 
countermanded. Up on the hill-side the pretty red-brick 
edifice stands deserted; all day long the cool autumnal 
sunshine falls upon it, all night the frost sparkles upon 
it, the dead leaves from the wood whisper crisply round 
the base of it, or fall like sparks of crimson and orange 
on to the quaint peaked roof. But no human foot goes 
near it, so far as Kendal knows. He would go to look at 
it sometimes, if lie were not afraid of meeting Jack there; 
but, to the best of his belief, he never goes near it. Kor 
does Georgie or his mother ever mention it to him. It 
can not but remind him of his sorrow more than anything 
else about the place; it is better he should not go near it, 
even though it may suffer from the neglect. Of what 
consequence is the house, or anything else, compared to 
the restoration of Jack’s peace of mind? 

The days are bright and still now for November; but at 


94 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

night there are sharp frosts, and in the morning blue hazy 
fogs, which sodden the dead leaves lying in such heaps 
about the woods. If it had not been for Jack, these 
would have been very happy days for Georgie. As Jack 
gradually seems to regain his old grave pleasant manner, 
they do become very happy days, though they are very 
quiet ones; and Georgie herself seems to grow more ten- 
der and sweet and lovable as the weeks go on — so much 
so that even Mrs. Eyve is fain to confess that she may not 
make such a bad wife for the vicar after all — this trouble 
about her brother has made a woman of her, if it has 
whitened his mother’s hair and set a wrinkle or two about 
her clear calm hazel eyes. 

One morning, about a week before Christmas, the vicar 
receives a letter from his sister by the early post — the first 
he has received since she threw Jack over. It is very 
short, and in it there is no single word of regret for what 
has happened, no plea for forgiveness; it merely informs 
him, in the coolest and most concise manner possible, that 
she is to be married to her cousin, Arthur Poigndestre, 
on the following Tuesday, at a quarter to two o’clock, at 
a church which she names, and that the wedding is to be 
quite private because of their mourning, and they are to 
start directly for Paris. She does not invite her brother 
to take any part in the ceremony, or even to be present at 
the wedding, though he is the person who should by 
rights give her away. But she evidently thinks he has 
not forgiven her for her conduct to his friend, and she is 
too proud, and perhaps cares too little whether he is there 
or not, to lay herself open to a rebuff in the shape of a 
refusal. She merely, in a cool, business-like way, ac- 
quaints him of her intentions, and Austen Kendal is glad 
of it. He would not have felt at liberty to refuse, if she 
had asked him to forgive her and to go to her wedding; 
but he does not care for her, and he dislikes and despises 
Arthur Poigndestre, and it is a relief to him to know that 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 95 

Lenore has found a substitute for him — probably old 
D’Esterre will give her away, as the wedding is to take 
place from his house in Berkeley Street. Maud D’Esterre 
is to be the only bride-maid, and Lenore is to be married 
in her traveling-dress, and go straight from the church 
to the railway station. 

While he is reading the letter, the door opens, and Jack 
Irving walks in, booted and spurred, and looking very 
straight and tall and handsome in his hunting ^^pink,” a 
little thin perhaps, but with the old gay light in his gray 
eyes, and the oJd saucy curl to his blonde mustache. 

Going to the meet at Peacock Hall?” the vicar asks, 
crushing Lenore’s letter in his hand as he rises from the 
table. 

Yes. Fine morning they’ve got, haven’t they? > Ho 
frost last night, for a wonder, and cloudy enough to 
please old Dan Webster!” 

I suppose you’ll hunt away in that direction altogether 
to-day ?” 

My dear fellow, how can I tell? The fox may come 
right through your garden, for all I know!” 

^^Of course he may,” the vicar says, slightly confused. 

Well, I’ll see you at the farm this evening, I suppose, if 
you don’t come to grief in the hunting-field?” 

^‘Austen, have you heard from her?” He puts the 
question quite calmly, leaning one hand on the mantel- 
piece as he faces his friend. 

What put that into your head?” 

Well, I’ve been expecting it, for one thing. When is 
it to be?” 

‘‘On Tuesday,” the other answers, surprised at his 
coolness. 

“ Next Tuesday?” 

“Yes — the twentieth.” 

“ And this is Saturday,” Irving says, in a curious 
musing way. “Two whole days and part of two more! 


96 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


Well, Fm off! I promised to call for May Somers at 
eleven — her father has put her in my charge for to-day.’’ 

I hope you’ll take care of her/’ the vicar says, con- 
scious of a feeling of intense relief. It would be a pity 
if anything happened to May Somers.” 

She is a jolly little girl,” Jack laughs, brushing a 
speck of dust off the sleeve of his red coat. 

^^Do you know what Georgie said to me last night 
about her?” 

I can guess,” Irving says, shrugging his broad shoul- 
ders. Georgie is the most inveterate little match- 
maker I ever knew in my life!” 

I hope it may be as she wishes, Jack.” 

As who wishes?” Jack inquires, audaciously. 

Why, Georgie — and May, too, I suppose! I think 
she always cared for you.” 

Jack takes up his cap and whip from the table. 

Well, I’m off! And I hope I won’t be carried home 
on a hurdle — for May’s sake!” he laughs, and walks out 
of the room, the vicar following him, with Lenore’s letter 
still crushed up in his hand. 

It is a gray dull morning; but the air is soft and warm, 
and full of the strange sad sweetness of the dead and 
dying leaves. A few late roses still linger in the garden, 
but the mignonette is lying prone , on the ground, the 
sweet- pea is a piteous tangle of dead stalks still clinging to 
the stakes which supported its summer glory, the clematis 
Jnings from the hedges, ragged and brown. 

I shall be glad when the spring comes,” the vicar 
soys, as Jack throws himself into his saddle. ^‘This 
time of the year-always makes me melancholy.” 

Melancholy!” Jack repeats, sitting erect in his sad- 
dle, his gray eyes on the bare brown woods. ‘^I wonder 
what you mean by melancholy?” 

Why, sad! Don’t you know what it is to be sad?” 


THE HOL^E THAT JACK BUILT. 97 

^^Sad!” Jack echoes again, gathering np his reins. 

No, I do not know what it is to feel sad.’^ 

am glad to hear it,” Austen Kendal laughs, looking 
np at him with the old admiring gaze. ‘^You don’t look 
as if you had much to sadden you, dear old boy, and I 
am thankful for it!” 

^‘Well, I’ll see you this evening,” Jack says, as he 
turns his horse’s head. 

The vicar stands at the gate looking after him till he 
turns the corner of the road. 

‘MVhat a fool she was!” he says to himself, as he goes 
back to his breakfast — first throwing Lenore’s letter into 
the fire, and with some satisfaction watching it curl into 
a cinder. What a fool she was to give up that splendid 
fellow for a rascal like the other, who will make her about 
as bad a husband as any man she could have picked out 
of the three kingdoms! But Jack was too good for her, 
and I, for one, am glad there was a stop put to it, since 
it has done him no harm. And I hope he will marry that 
pretty little May Somers. Georgie would be so delighted, 
and she would make him a dear, good, loving little wife.” 

Jack does not come to grief in the hunting-field; neither 
does he allow May Somers to break her pretty little neck. 
He rides back to Matching rather muddy, but otherwise 
none the worse for his day’s sport, just as the vicar walks 
up the drive in the twilight, under the bare brown elms. 

^‘Had a good day’s work. Jack?” 

<«yery good,” the other answers, walking his horse 
slowly over the fallen leaves. 

Left May at home, I suppose?” 

Yes.” 

Georgie meets them in the porch. The narrow entry 
behind her is filled with a warm cheerful glow of firelight; 
there is a faint suggestion of good things from the kitchen 


98 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

regions; the old parlor looks picturesque, with the fire- 
light dancing on its polished wainscot and on the damask 
and silver on the table. 

Mrs. Irving is in the kitchen, superintending some par- 
ticularly dainty dish; Jack has ridden round to the sta- 
bles; the vicar and Georgie are alone in the firelight, 
Georgie looking pretty in her warm crimson cashmere 
dress, with dainty white ruffles round the throat and 
wrists, and her pearl ring on her soft little childish hand. 

My darling,” Austen says softly, as he puts his arm 
round her, have been thinking of this all day!” 

And I,” Georgie smiles, with a very contented look 
into the fire. 

think you might give me a kiss; don’t you?” 

Georgie gives him two very daintily, then looks down 
into the fire again. 

I heard some news to-day, Georgie. Can you guess 
what it is?” 

She looks up at him quickly, and she is so well able to 
read his face that she says at once — 

You have heard from Lenore.” 

Yes. She is to be married on Tuesday.” 

Does Jack know?” — with a sudden wistful dimness 
coming over the bright eyes. 

^^He does. He came in this morning while I had the 
letter in my hand.” 

‘^Did he seem to mind very much?” 

^^Ho. I was thankful to see that he did not seem to 
mind it at all.” 

I am so glad!” Georgie says, with a sigh of relief. 
‘‘1 always dreaded the time when — when he should hear 
that.” 

So did I. But it is over now, darling, and I hope 
and trust he will soon forget his grief entirely — she was 
not worthy of it.” 

‘^Perhaps he will marry May?” Georgie says, smiling 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 99 

as she stands in the firelight with her lover’s arm round 
her, 

‘‘ L said something about it to him this morning,” Aus- 
ten smiles in answer. 

And what did he say?” — eagerly. 

He did not say much; but I think myself he will 
marry May yet.” 

The cup of Georgie’s content will be full then. It 
seems almost full now, as she stands in the pleasant glow 
and sparkle of the wood-fire, listening to Jack as he hangs 
up his cap and hunting-whip in the hall, and speaks to 
old Eover, who has gone out to meet him, in the familiar 
voice she loves so well. And Austen Kendal looks at her, 
and thinks what a sweet little wife she will make, 
and longs for the time v/hen he will be permitted to 
transplant her to his own fire-side, there to gladden his 
heart and to be the light of his eyes as long as they both, 
shall live. 

4 : ^ ^ 

The vicar is called to Bournemouth unexpectedly on 
the following Monday; an old college friend is dying 
there, and wishes to have Austen Kendal with him when 
he dies. The summons is very urgent, and Kendal obeys 
it at once, expecting to be back at Matching on the fol- 
lowing evening, and not thinking to leave any message 
for the farm except that he hopes to see them on Wednes- 
day at the latest. His friend lingers till about nine 
o’clock on Tuesday morning; but Kendal leaves Bourne- 
mouth the same evening, and at about three o’clock on 
Wednesday afternoon walks over to the farm to report 
himself, and to find how things have been going on there 
•during his absence of three days. 

It is a dull gray afternoon, with a whistling wind whirl- 
ing the dead leaves about the road-side and sighing among 
the bare brown twigs overhead. But the vicar walks fast, 
thinking of the glad eyes and the bright fire that await 


100 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

liim, and of the smoke and chat he will have with Jack 
afterward — for lie seems to have missed Jack even more 
than the others during these three days. 

He finds the old wooden gate open as usual, but he 
fancies the place has a lonely and deserted air; and all at 
once a great fear and horror come over him. Could any- 
thing have happened to any of them while he was away? 

But Georgie meets him in the porch, looking much as 
usual, May Somers and her brother Tom appearing be- 
hind her. Mrs, Irving is gone into the village to visit a 
poor sick woman. Yes, they are all quite well, Georgie 
assures him, as the other two fall back a little and present- 
ly leave them alone. 

I suppose you were at the wedding?” Georgie asks 
then, a little wistfully. 

‘^The wedding!” he repeats indignantly. Indeed I 
was not at the wedding! I do not know how I shall ever 
bring myself to forgive her, much less go to her weddingl 
Wljat put that into your head?” 

Why, we couldn’t think where else you had gone, 
you know; and, when you said you would not be back 
before Tuesday evening, we were almost sure.” 

‘‘No,” Austen says, gravely; ^‘1 was sent for to an old 
college-chum of mine who was dying, and who could not 
die without seeing me again,” 

“You saw him, I hope?” 

“ Yes; he died yesterday morning quite peaceful and 
happy. The telegram had been very urgent; the doctor 
who setit it did not think he could possibly live till I 
came; if I had had a moment to spare, I would have 
written you a line; but I had only just time to catch the 
early train.” 

“We were rather wishing you might have gone to the 
wedding,” Georgie says, very wistfully and sadly, “ be- 
cause Jack went, and we knew, if you were there, you 
would have looked after him.” 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 101 

Jack went to the wedding!’’ 

Yes, we suppose so; and yet we think he must haye 
been late for the wedding, for he did not leave this till 
Tuesday morning; and, when he did go, he did not say a 
word about it to any one, or where he was going, or any- 
thing. He must have walked to the train. But indeed 
we never missed him till dinner-time, so he may have gone 
earlier, for all we know.” 

Gone to the wedding!” the vicar repeats, in utter be- 
wilderment. My dear Georgie, he has never gone to the 
wedding! Unless I saw him there with my own eyes, I 
would not believe it!” 

All I know is that we have not seen him since break- 
fast on Tuesday,” Georgie says, beginning to feel fright- 
ened; ^^but if he is not in London, where can he be,. 
Austen? He would never have gone further than that 
without telling us.” 

Further than that! The vicar’s face has suddenly 
grown as white as snow. 

Stay here, darling,” he says, hurriedly. I want ta 
speak to Tom Somers.” 

You are not frightened, Austen?” — clinging to him.. 

My dear child, what should frighten me? It is only 
that an idea has come into my head; but I may be wrong. 
And I want you to stay just here till I come back. Prom- 
ise me that.” 

She promises, still looking very much frightened. But 
the vicar sends May to her, and, merely saying to young 
Somers, ^^Come with me,” passes out through the glass 
door into the garden, and from the garden to the lane at 
the back of the house. 

The lane leads up the hill, by a rather steep ascent, to 
the great furze-covered slope, which in its turn gives place 
to the kind of green terrace on which Jack’s new house is 
built. It is a breathless climb, and the vicar is out of 
breath when he reaches the upper plateau; but he goes 


102 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


twice as fast as young Somers, though he too has hurried 
till he is out of breath. The vicar’s face is very white, 
and young Somers has lost a good deal of his healthy col- 
or; but neither has spoken a single word since they left 
the farm, though the same idea must have struck them 
both, for in the eyes of both there is the same look of 
speechless horror and dread. 

Austen Kendal will never know how he climbed that 
hill. His limbs seemed to drag like the limbs of a man 
who would run from some terrible thing in a nightmare, 
he seemed to himself scarcely to move; and yet, so far as 
minutes go, the ascent of that hill was never made in so 
short a time before, and probably never will be again. 

His heart beats as if it must burst at every throb, 
and yet he toils on and on, the cold sweat pouring from 
his forehead — past the hawthorn brake, up the grassy 
slope, up to the house, into the little porch, knee-deep 
with autumn leaves. The door is closed, but not locked; 
he opens it with a push and goes in, Somers following him 
into the pretty square hall, which is full of the smell of 
new paint and plaster and fresh wood. 

Their footsteps echo through the empty rooms, but 
there is no other sound; neither speaks to the other, 
neither asks the other what he expects to see, as they look 
into one room after another — only in both their faces there 
is still the stiff, rigid, horror-stricken look. The sitting- 
room, the parlor, the little room that was to be the gun- 
room — there is nothing in them but a rough chair or ta- 
ble, or perhaps a plank or a board or two left there since 
their inner decoration was finished. 8ome of the win- 
dows are open; a dead leaf has fluttered in here and 
there, and rustles across the floor when they open the 
door. But beyond this there is no sound or movement in 
all the silent house. 

At the end of the corridor is the room that was to have 
been Lenore’s. Austen Kendal has left this to the last; 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


103 


and yet, as he puts out his liand to open the door, a great 
horror seizes him — here, if anywhere, he will find what 
he has come to seek. 

It is here. At a table in the middle of the floor a figure 
is sitting, bending forward, the arms crossed on the table 
and the face buried in them. There is a revolver in the 
right hand, which is stretched out a little; but there is 
no sign of any struggle — the whole pose of the figure is 
one of perfect rest. With a wild cry Austen Kendal 
springs forward; but young Somers catches him by the 
arm and holds him back. 

‘‘ Hush!” he says sharply. Don’t you see he is quite 
dead?” 

He is not dead; he has only fallen asleep. Look at 
him. Could any one look like that, and yet be dead?” 

But young Somers is a doctor, and one glance at the 
face is enough for him. 

^‘^He has been dead for more than four-and-twenty 
hours,” he says gravely. 

I knew it,” Austen Kendal answers, in a voice of the 
most bitter anguish. He shot himself on her wedding- 
day!” 

* » 5}: ^ * 4s 

They never tell Georgie how it happened — she thinks he 
died of heart-disease; and there is no trouble about the 
funeral, or anything of that kind. The coroner’s verdict 
is ‘^temporary insanity,” so Jack is not denied a resting- 
place with his forefathers under the old church, some 
items of family history going a great way to confirm the 
coroner’s jury in their opinion. And the thing which 
has been his mother’s horror and dread of the last seven- 
and-twenty years has come to be her only consolation in 
her bitter sorrow — he did not know what he was doing 
when he rashly took away his life. 

Died by his own hand! The words ring in Austen 
Kendal’s ears, as he looks down at the young face ^‘smil- 


104 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BVILJ, 

ing sternly sweet,” at the tall stalwart figure outlined so 
stiffly under the spotless covering, at the green palm- 
branches some hand has laid on the pulseless breast. 

By his own hand! ISTo — but by the hand of a woman 
whom he had loved with all the depth and strength of 
his nature — by the hand of a woman who had kissed him 
while she killed him! If Lenore Kendal had fired the 
shot which had deprived him of existence, she could not 
have more surely murdered him — could not have more 
surely laid the sin of blood-guiltiness at her door. So 
Austen Kendal thinks as he looks at him, the tears drop- 
ping one by one down his gaunt cheeks. But there are 
no tears in Jack’s eyes; his face is set in that rapt expres- 
sion, sweeter than any smile, which so often comes to the 
faces of the dead. And Jack’s heart does not ache as his 
friend’s heart is aching. It is all over now — 

“ The liope and the fear and the longing, 

All the dull deep pain, and the constant anguish of patience.” 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

Seven springs have clothed the trees about Matching 
with tender green leaves, seven summers have bathed 
them in sunshine, seven autumns have touched them with 
a decay more glorious than their greenest prime, seven 
winters have muffled them in downy snow since the 
tragedy at Matching, which, to all but two or three per- 
sons, has come to be nothing more than ^^a sorrowful 
tale, long past.” And even to these two or three persons 
the anguish has changed to a softened regret which is not 
intolerable; the bitter grief of the first few days and 
weeks has given place to a quiet lifelong but perfectly en- 
durable sorrow, which does not interfere with their every- 
day occupations and interests and enjoyments, which is 
indeed never entirely forgotten, but which is remembered 
without poignant pain. Only Jack’s mother has never 
been quite the same since that December day when they 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 105 

carried him back to her cold and stark;, but then she 
looks forward to seeing him so soon again that her grief 
has more of longing in it than of absolute regret. 

“ Gone for a minute, my son, from this room into the next; 

I too shall go in a minute. What time have I to he vext?’' 

' The old farm looks just as it looked seven years ago; 
the thatch is scarcely any deeper, the elms do not seem 
to have grown older, the calves that gambol in the pad- 
' dock might be the same calves that gamboled there seven 
years ago, the pet lambs about the door might be the 
same. The green hill-side looks just as it looked any time 
these twenty years, sloping up to the dusky woods that 
- stand out clearly on its summit against the sky. 

human habitation stands between the pasture and the 
' wood, no red-brick cottage raises its quaint gables and 
peaked roof into the air, no casements glimmer in the 
. sunshine; of the house that Jack built nothing remains 
but a low green mound like a grave. The grass above it 
' looks as if it had not been disturbed for centuries; the 
lark builds her nest there, the little gray rabbits scurry 
over it in the early morning sunshine, or nibble the dewy 
herbage in the twilight, cloud-shadows drift across it, the 
. wild bee hums over it, the perfume of gorse and heather 
is wafted about it, the dead leaves lie thickly on it in the 
autumn, the snow in winter. 

At midnight the moon cometh 
And looketh down alone.” 

But no human footstep ever disturbs it; as Jack’s rela- 
' tives could not have borne to look at the dumb dwelling 
that would forever have reminded them of their sorrow, 
so neither do they go to look at its grave. It had risen 
like a vision, and like a vision it has vanished, and left 
not a wrack behind,” 

^Neither has the sleepy little village changed much, nor 


106 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


the old gray church. But the Vicarage has had a new 
wing added to it over which the ivy is beginning to creep 
already; and a great many little feet patter about the 
house and garden which were not known there seven 
years ago; and the vicar can take no more solitary ranr- 
bles about his kitchen-garden, nor muse over his next 
Sunday’s sermon while he paces up and down between his 
gooseberry and currant bushes, unless he can muse with 
a chattering youngster hanging out of either hand. 

They are all pretty children; but the prettiest of all is 
the little fellow who does not live at the Vicarage, but 
with his grandmother at the farm. Georgie had not been 
strong while he was a baby, and he had been so delicate 
that nobody thought he would live. But Mrs. Irving had 
taken him to the farm and reared him there; and, now 
that he has grown into the flower of the flock, they have 
not the heart to take him away from her. His name also 
is Jack, so that she seems to have the best right to him; 
and indeed the Vicarage is full to overflowing — they may 
very well spare this one little gray-eyed lad to Matching 
Farm. Georgie and her husband are very happy; and 
Georgie has developed into quite a notable woman, though 
she looks as pretty and almost as young as ever, as she 
walks between her two eldest boys to church. Even Mrs. 
Kyve can not say that the parish is neglected or that the 
vicar and his wife, as fond as they are of each other, do 
not do their utmost both for the souls and bodies of their 
flock. 

^ ^ Hi 

At one of the most noted of continental gambling re- 
sorts there lives an English lady who is so poor as to be 
unable to venture out by daylight, but who may some- 
times be seen taking a rapid ^^constitutional” when the 
twilight will allow the shabbiness of her dress to pass un- 
noticed. She must have been very beautiful once, and 
she is still young; but her face is very white and haggard. 


THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 


107 


and her eyes have a strange despairing look in them 
which gives those who encounter them the heartache. 
They say her husband makes his living at the gaming- 
table; he is a dark^ Spanish-looking man, with black eyes 
and a hard cruel face. Some people assert — but nobody 
knows whether they have any ground for the assertion or 
not — that she is madly jealous of her husband; and the 
same people say that, if she is, it is not without cause. 
They are never seen together; but he is often seen in the 
train of a beautiful young Kussian lady of questionable 
antecedents. Eumor will have it that when she leaves the 
town he will leave it too; and in that case what is to be- 
come of unfortunate Lady Poigndestre? Nobody knows,, 
nor indeed does anybody care. Has she ever wished, or 
will she ever wish, that she had lived and died in peace 
and happiness in The House that Jack Built? 


THE EHD. 


ADVEETISEMENTS. 



THE BEST 

WasMiii Coipul 

EVER INVENTED. 

ISTo Lady, Married or Sin^ 
gle, Ricli or Poor, House- 
keeping or Boarding, will 
be without it after testing 
its utility. 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocers, but beware of 
worthless imitations. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 

The Seaside Library 

:E=>oo32:Err EiDZTioisr- 


270 The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Parts L and 


n., each 20 

279 Little Goldie. By Mrs. Sumner Hayden ,20 

284 Doris. By “The Duchess” 10 

286 Deldee; or, The Iron Hand. By F. Warden 20 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two Loves. By Mar- 
garet Lee 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

359 The Water-Witcli. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 


362 The Bride of Lammermoor. By Sir Walter Scott. . 20 

For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, post- 
age free, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for 
double numbers, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will 
please order by numbers. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street. 


WHAT IS SAPOLIO? 

equal for all cleaning purposes except the laundry. To use it is to value it. 

What will Sapolio do? Why, it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 
give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

You can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin things shine 
brightly. The wash-basin, the bath-tub. even the greasy kitcher sink, will be 
as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. One cake will prove ell we 
say. Be a clever little housekeeper and try it. 

BEWARE OF INIITAT!ONS. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. 

:E»oc3set Eca.itioxi. 


The following books are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
any address, postage prepaid, by the publisher, on receipt of 12 cents for 
single numbers, 17 cents for special numbers, and 25 cents for double num- 
bers. Parties within reach of newsdealers will please get the books through 
them and thus avoid paying extra for postage. Those wishing the Pocket 
Edition of The Seaside Library must be careful to mention the Pocket 
Edition, otherwise the Ordinary Edition will be sent. 

Any of the following works, handsomely bound in cloth, will be sent by 
mail, postage paid, on receipt of 50 cents, by the publisher. 

Newsdealers wishing catalogues of The Skaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
bearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their names, addresses, and 
number required, to 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 
(P.O.Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


NO. PRICE. 

1 Yolande. By William Black 20 

2 Molly Bawn. By “The Duch- 

ess” 20 

3 The Mill on the Floss. B}^ George 

Eliot 20 

4 Under Two Flags. By “ Ouida ” 20 

5 The Admiral’s Ward. By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

0 Portia. By “ The Duchess” 20 

7 File No. 113. By Emile Gabo- 

riau 20 

8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras. 

By “Ouida” 20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mulock 20 

12 Other People’s Money. By Emile 


VJctUUl ictti •• /iu 

13 Eyre's Acquittal. By Helen B. 

Mathers 10 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian. By “The Duch- 

ess ” 10 

15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bront6 20 

16 Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ”.. . ^ 

}7 The Wooing O’t. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 15 

18 Shandon Bells. By William 

Black 20 

19 Her Mother s Sin. Bytheauthor 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These Times. 

By William Black 20 

22 David Copperfield. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfield. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

23 A Princess of Thule. By William 

Black 20 


NO. PRICE. 

24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 
Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. H 20 

25 Mrs. Geoifrey. By “ The Duch- 

ess ” 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile Ga- 

boriau. Vol. 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile Ga- 

boriau. Vol. II 20 

27 Vanity Fair. By William M. 

Thackeray 20 

28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott, 

Bart 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

30 Faith and Unfaith. By “ The 

Duchess” 20 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot. 20 

32 The Laud Leaguers. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

33 The Clique of Gold. By Emile 

Gaboriau 10 

34 Daniel Deronda. By George 

Eliot 30 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot . . 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

38 The Widow Lerouge. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

39 In Silk Attire. By William 

Black 20 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii. By 

Bulwer Ly tton 20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles Dick- 

ens , 15 

42 Romola. B}^ George Eliot 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition 


NO. PRICE. 

44 Maeleod of Dare. By Williain 

Black 20 

45 A Little Piljrrim. By Mrs, Oli- 

phaot . . 10 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles 

Reade 20 

47 AltioraPeto. By Laurence Oli- 

phant 20 

48 Thicker Than Water. By James 

Payn 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By 

William Black 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton. By William Black. 20 

51 Dora Thorne. By the author of 

“ Her Mother's Sin ” 20 

52 The New Magdalen. By WTlkie 

Collins 10 

53 The Story of Ida. By Francesca 10 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring. By 

the author of “ Dora Thome ” 20 

55 The Three Guardsmen. By 

Alexander Dumas 20 

56 Phantom Fortune, By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

57 Shirley, By Charlotte Bront6. . 20 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. By D. 

Christie Murray 10 

59 Vice Versa. By F. Anstey 20 

60 The Last of the Mohicans. By 

J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. 

Rowson 10 

62, The Executor. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

63 The Spy. By J. Fenimore Coop- 

er 20 

64 A Maiden Fair. By Charles 

Gibbon 10 

65 Back to the Old Home. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 10 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man. By Octave Feuillet 10 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more 30 

68 A Queen Amongst Women. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 

mance. By William Black. . . 10 

71 A Sti-uggle for Fame. By Mrs. 

J. H. Riddell 20 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 20 

73 Reileemed by Love, By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M, E. 

Braddon 20 

75 Twenty Years After. By Alex- 

ander Dumas 20 

76 Wife in Name Only. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities. By Chas. 

X^iok0U5 15 

7H IMadcap Vioiet. By Wm. Black 20 

79- Wedded and Parted. By the 
author of ‘‘ Dora Thorne ”... 10 


NO. PRICE. 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester 2J 

81 A Daughter of Heth. By Wm. 

Black 20 

82 Sealed Lips. By Fortune Du 

Boisgobey 20 

83 A Strange Story. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Ly tton ". 20 

84 Hard Times. By Charles Dick- 

ens 10 

85 A Sea Queen. By W. Clark 

Russell 20 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen. B 3 ^ Jules Verne 20 

88 The Privateersman. Bx^ Cap- 

tain Marry at 20 

89 The Red Eric, By R. M. Ballan- 

tjme 10 

90 Ernest Maltravers. Bj" Sir E, 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

91 Barnabj^ Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

92 Lord Ljmne’s Choice. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . 10 

93 Anthonj’^ Trollope’s Autobiogra- 

phy 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 

ens. First half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 

ens, Second half 20 

95 The Fire Brigade. B.y R. M, 

Ballantyne 10 

96 Erling the Bold. By R. M, Bal- 

lantyne 10 

97 All in a Garden Fair. By Walter 

Besant 20 

98 A Woman-Hater. B}’ Charles 

Reade 15 

99 Barbara’s History". By" Amelia 

B. Edwards 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 

By Jules Verne 20 

101 Second Thoughts. By' Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

102 The Moonstone. B.y Wilkie 

Collins 15 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 

104 The Coral Pin, By F. Du Bois- 

gobey 30 

105 A Noble Wife. By John Saun- 

ders 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 

ens. First half 20 

106 Bleak House, By Charles Dick- 

ens. Second half 20 

107 Dombe.y and Son. By Charles 

Dickens 40 

108 The Cricket on the Health, and 

Doctor Marigold. By Charles 
Dickens lO 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Rus- 

sell 2C 

110 Under the Red Flag. By- Miss 

M. E. Braddon lO 

111 The Little School-master Mark. 

B.y J. H. Sh orthouse lO 

112 The W'atersof Marah. By" John 

Hill 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Pocket Edition 


NO. PRICE. 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. By M. 

G. Wightwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. 

C J. Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus TroIIooe 10 

116 Moths. By “ Ouida ” 20 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 

By W. H. G. Kingston 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresrord. and Eric 

Dering. By “ The Duchess ” . 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “ The Duchess ” 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby. By Thomas Hughes 20 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin Mc- 

Carthy 20 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

223 Sweet is True Love. By “ The 
Duchess” 10 

124 Three Feathers. By William 

Black 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 

By William Black 20 

126 Kilmeny. By William Black. . . 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

By “Ouida” 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duch- 

ess ” 10 

130 The Last of the Barons. By 

Sir E. BulwerLytton 40 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens 40 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

133 Peter the Whaler. By W. H. G. 

Kingston 10 

134 The Witching Hour. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

135 A Great Heiress. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal.” By 

“The Duchess” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By William Black 20 

139 The Romantic Adventures of a 

Milkmaid. By Thomas Hardy 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune. By Walter 

Besant 10 

141 She Loved Him I By Annie 

Thomas 10 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 20 

143 One False, Both Fair. J. B. 

Harwood 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By 

Emile Gaboriau 10 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man. By Robert Buchanan.. 20 

146 Love Finds the Way. By Walter 

Besant and James Rice 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 

lope 20 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By the author of “ Dora 
Tfeorne” 10 


NO. PRICE. 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. By C. 

Blatherwick 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

153 The Golden Calf. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Bu- 

chanan 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

156 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

157 Milly’s Hero. By F. W. Robin- 

son 20 

158 The Starling. By Norman Mac- 

leod, D.D 10 

159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories. By Florence 
Marryat 10 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 
Lord Lytton 10 

162 Eugene Aram, By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 20 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Dar- 

rell 20 

164 Leila ; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 

By William MakepeacejThack- 
eray 20 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By 

“The Duchess” 10 

167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Charles 

Dickens and Wilkie Collins. .. 10 

169 The Haunted Man. By Charles 

Dickens ...... 10 

170 A Great Treason. By Mary 

Hoppus 30 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

173 The Foreigners. By Eleanor C. 

Price 20 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge.. 20 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories. By Wilkie Collins... 10 

176 An April Day. By Philippa P. 

Jephson 10 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs.Oliphai^ 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Life in the Highlands. By 
Queen Victoria 10 

179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 10 

180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

181 The New Abelard. By Robert 

Buchanan 30 

182 The Millionaire. A Novel 26 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Pocket Edition. 


iro. PRICE. 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 

ries. By Florence Marryat. . . 10 

184 Thiriby Hall. By W. E. Norris. 20 

185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 


jendie 10 

186 The Canon’s Ward. By James 

Payn 20 

187 The Midnight Sun. ByFredrika 

Bremer 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 5 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 15 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 10 

193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far I” By 

Alison 10 

195 “ The Way of the World.” By 

David Christie Murray 15 

196 Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

199 The Fisher Village. By Anne 

Beale 10 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By An- 

thony Trollope 10 

201 The Monastery. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

202 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 15 

205 The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 30 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades. By Charles Reade . . 10 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Croker 15 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

210 Readiana; Comments on Cur- 

rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 

211 The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 

goon. By Chas. Lever (Com- 
plete in one volume) 30 

213 A Terrible Temptation. Chas. 

Reade 15 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 

Charles Reade 20 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 15 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 15 

217 1’he Man She Cared For. By 

F. W. Robinson 15 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 15 
IK9 Lady Clare ; or. The Master of 

tile Forges. By Georges Ohnet 10 


NO. PRICBJ. 

220 Which Loved Him Best? By 
the author of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By 

Helen B. Mathers 15 

222 The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant liT 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By W. 

Clark Russell 15 

224 The Arundel Motto. Mary Cecil 

Hay 15 

225 The Giant’s Robe. By F. Anstey 15' 

226 Friendship. By “ Ouida ” 20 

227 Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 15 

228 Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 
da” 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

230 Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besant 1& 

231 Grififlth Gaunt. Charles Reade 15 

232 Love and Money; or, A Perilous 
Secret. By Charles Reade. . . 

233 “ I Say No or, the Love-Letter 
Answered. Wilkie Collins.... 15 

234 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery. 

Miss M. E. Braddon 15 

235 “It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” By Charles Reade. .. 20 

236 Which Shall It Be? Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. By the 
author of “ Dura Thorne ”... 15 

238 Pascarel. By “ Ouida ” 20 

239 Signa. By “Ouida ” 20 

240 Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother. By 

L. B. Walford 10 

242 The Two Orphans. By D’Ennery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half. By Charles Lever. 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

244 A Great MistaL By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 20 

245 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat. By Miss Mulock 10 

246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 10 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

248 The House on the Marsh. F. 

Warden 10 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “ Called Back ” 10 

252 A Sinless ^cret. By “ Rita”.. 10 

253 The Amazon. By Carl Vosmaer 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 

Fa^se. By the author of 
“Dora Thorne” 10 

255 The Mystery. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 15 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. Walford. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


VO. PRICE. 

257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

858 Cousins. By L. B. Walford. . . . 20 

869 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 
Mouce-Cristo.” By Alexander 

Dumas 10 

860 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair Maid. By F. AV. Robinson 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Parti. By Alexander Dumas 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 15 

264 Piddouche, A French Detective. 

ByFortund Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

B 3 ^ William Black 15 

266 The Water-Babies. A Fairy Tale 

for a Land-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 

Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

868 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 
Miser’s Treasure. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

272 The Little Savage. By Captain 

Marry at 10 

^273 Love and Mirage ; dr, The Wait- 
ing on an Island. By M. 
Betham- Edwards 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 
and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 

Tt7 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 
Mrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
His Word. By AV. E. Norris. 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 15 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 15 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
Doris. By “The Duchess .. 10 


NO. PRICE. 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

286 Deldee ; or, The Iron Hand. By 

F. AVarden .\ 2C 

287 At War AVith Herself. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... lO 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 

True Light. By a “Brutal 
Saxon ” 10 

290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s AA'arfare. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne”.... 10 

295 A Woman’s AVar. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne ” 10 

800 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 
Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
of “Dora Thorne” 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A Week in Killarney. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 16 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill — 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 80 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Pocket Edition. 


KO. PRICE. 

817 By Mead and Stream. Charles 

Gibbon 20 

SIS The Pioneers; or, The Sources 
of the Susquehanna. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 

320 A Bit of Human Nature. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

321 The Prodigals: And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

t22 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

*23 A Willful Maid 20 

824 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

825 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 
George Macdonald 10 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. First half. 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Second half 20 

329 The Polish Jew. ByErckmann- 

Chatrian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. By Margaret Lee 20 

331 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20 

332 Judith Wynne. A Novel 20 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or. Scenes 

from the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. By 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch. A Novel.. . . 20 

336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
Including Some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

338 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 

Doudney 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers ; or. The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

842 The Baby, and One New Year’s 
Eve. By “ The Duchess ” . . . . 10 
*43 The Talk of the Town. By 
James Payn . 20 

344 “The Wearing of the Green.” 

By Basil 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant.... 20 

846 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir.. 10 

847 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


NO. 

349 


350 

351 

352 

353 

354 

355 

356 

357 

358 

359 

360 

361 

362 

363 

364 

365 

366 

367 

368 

369 

370 

371 

372 

373 

374 

375 

376 

377 


PRICE. 


The Two Admirals. A Tale of 
the Sea. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 2« 

Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith ,10 

The House on the Moor. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 
rett 10 

The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 
end of Montrose.’ By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

The Lottery of Life. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 
That Terrible Man. By W. E. 
Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 

Felbermann 10 

A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

John.' A Love Story. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

AVithin the Clasp. By J. Ber- 
wick Harwood 20 

The Water-Witch. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 20 

The Red Rover. A Tale of the 
Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

Sir Walter Scott 10 

Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 10 

George Christy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 

The Mysterious Hunter; or. 
The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 
The Southern Star; or. The Dia- 
mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 
Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

Lucy Crof ton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 
Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 20 

Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”. 10 
Wing-and-Wing. J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

The Dead Man’s Secret; or. The 
Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 
A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 
Burnaby, of the Royal Horse 

Guards ^ 

The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

By the author of “ My Duc- 
ats and My Daughter 10 

Magdalen Hepburn; A Story 
of the Scottish Reformation. 

By Mrs. Oliphant 2f 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


20 


20 

20 

10 


10 


20 


20 


20 


10 

10 


NO. PRICE. 

878 Homeward Bound; or. The 

Chase. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 

879 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 

380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 

fcnoll. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 

381 The Red Cardinal. By Frances 

Elliot 

882 Three Sisters; or, Sketches of 

a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D’Esterre-Keeling. . . 

883 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 

ilton Aide 10 

884 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. Capt. Fred Burnaby, 

385 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye 
des Vignerons. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 

886 Led Astray ; or, ‘‘La Petite Comt- 
esse.” By Octave Feuillet, . . 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. By 

Charlotte French 

388 Addie’s Husband; or. Through 

Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of ‘‘Love or Lands?” 

389 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas.. . 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

391 The Heart of Mid-Lothian. By 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

393 The Pirate. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire. By 

Jules Verne 10 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

897 Lionel Lincoln ; or. The Leaguer 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

898 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 

By Robert Buchanan 10 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf; or. Passages in the 

Life of Mrs. Margaret IMait- 
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs. 
Oliphant ! 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 

ridge 20 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ”. 10 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Sam- 

uel Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

409 Roy^ Wife. By G. J. Whyte- 

Melville 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 


NO. PRICE. 


411 A Bitter Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
‘‘Dora Thorne” ‘20 

412 Some One Else. ByB. M.Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper. 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

418 St. Ron an ’s Well. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

419 The Chainbearer ; or. The Little- 

page Manuscripts. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

420 Satanstoe; or. The Littlepage 

Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 


of The Littlepage Manu- 
scripts. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
422 Precaution. J.Fenimore Cooper 20 


423 The Sea-Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 

Voyage to Cathay. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

425 The Oak- Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter, J. Fenimore Cooper. 20 

426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 

worth Ta 5 dor 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
formerly known as “ Tommy 
Upmore.” R. D. Blackmore. 20 

428 Z4ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed 10 

429 Boulderstone; or. New Men and 

Old Populations. By Wiliam 
Sime 10 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. By the 

author of “By Crooked Paths” 10 

431 The Monikins. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

432 The Witch’s Head. By H. Rider 

Haggard 20 

433 My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne,” and A Rainy June. 

By “Onida” 10 

434 Wyl lard’s Weird. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. By George Taylor.. . . ‘20 

436 Stella. By Fannj’^ Lewald “20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 

4B8 Found Out. Helen B. Mathers. 10 
489 Great Expectations. By Chas. 

Dickens... 20 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

441 A Sea Change. By Flora L. 

Shaw 20 

442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of The Albany. . . 10 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

445 The Shadow of a Crime. By 

Hall Caine 20 

440 Dame Durden. By “Rita” 20 

447 American Notes. By Charles 

Dickens .20 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 
Dickens ... 20 

449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

450 Godfrey Helstone. ByGeorgiana 

M. Craik 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

the Bar. By G. J. Whyte- 
Melville 20 

452 In the West Countrie. By May 

Crommelin... 20 

453 The Lottery Ticket. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

455 Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative of 

Every-day Life and Every-day 
People. By Charles Dickens. 20 

457 The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. By Charles Marvin. .. 10 

458 A Week of Passion ; or, The Di- 

lemma of Mr. George Barton 
the Younger. By Edward Jen- 
kins 20 

459 A Woman’s Temptation. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 


NO. PRICE. 

460 Under a Shadow. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. By Lewis Carroll. With 
forty-two illustrations by 
John Tenniel 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

466 Between Two Loves. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

467 A Struggle for a Ring. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 

of a Sewing-Girl. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley 10 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” ! 20 

471 Thrown on the World. By Char- 

lotte BI. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 

By YYilliam Black 10 

473 A Lost Son. By Blary Linskill. 10 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

By George Ebers 20 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 20 

476 Between Two Sins. By Char- 

lotte BI. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 10 

477 Affinities. A Romance of To- 

* day. By BIrs. Campbell Praed. 10 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter 

By Bliss BI. E. Braddon. Part I. 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter 

By Miss BI. E. Braddon. Part II. 20 

479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoid 20 

481 The House that Jack Built. By 
Alison 10 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


OLD SLEUTH LIBRARY. 


A Series of the Most Thrilling Detective Stories Ever Published! 


The following books are now ready. Others of this series in 

preparation. 


No. 1. OliD SLEUTH THE DETECTIVE. 

A dashing romance, detailing in graphic style the hair-breadth escapes and 
thrilling adventures of a veteran agent of the law. 

No. THE KING OF THE DETECTIVES. 

In this story the shrewdness and cunning of a master mind are delineated 

in a fascinating manner. 

No. 3. OLD SLEUTH’S TRIUMPH. 

IN TWO HALVES— 10 CENTS EACH. 

The crowning triumph of the great detective’s active career is reached after 
undergoing many exciting perils and dangers. 

No. 4. UNDER A MILLION DISGUISES. 

The many subterfuges by which a detective tracks his game to justice are 
all described in a graphic manner in this great story. 

No. 5. NIGHT SCENES IN NEW YORK. 

An absorbing story of life after dark in the great metropolis. All the 
various features of metropolitan life— the places of amusement, high 
and low life among the night-hawks of Gotham, etc., are realistically 
described in this delightful story. 

No. 6.-OLD ELECTRICITY, THE LIGHTNING DETECTIVE. 

For ingenuity of plot, quick and exciting succession of dramatic incidents, 
this great story has not an equal in the whole range of detective literature. 

No. y.-THE SHADOW DETECTIVE. 

This thrilling story is a masterpiece of entrancing fiction. The wonderful 
exploits and hair-breadth escapes of a clever law-agent are all described 
in brilliant style. 

No. 8.-RED LIGHT WILL, THE RIVER DETECTIVE. 

In this splendid romance, lovers of the weird, exciting phases of life on the 
teeming docks and wharfs of a great city, will find a mine of thrilling 
interest. 

No. 9,-IRON BURGESS, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE. 

The many sensational incidents of a detective’s life in chasing to cover the 
sharks who prey upon the revenue of the Government are all described in 
a fascinating manner. The story will hold the reader spell-bound with in- 
terest from beginning to end. 


The above works are for sale by all newsdealers at 10 cents each, or 
will be sent to any address, postage paid, on receipt of 12 cents, by the 
publisher. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


P, O. Box 3751. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 


ORl>lIVARY ROITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 
(P.O.Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. 'V 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Editior 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, o»i 
receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by th.^ 
publisher. Parties ordering by mail wiU please order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

18 A Princess of Thule. 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 

51 Kilmeny. 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


53 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

390 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly : 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826, Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRVDDON’S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes. 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham. 10 

140 The Lady Lisle : 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 26 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


481 Vixen 30 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBBARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wuthering Heights 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’* Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

1019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress . 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated ) 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine ; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 Tlie Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Flide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money ^ 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel — 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary. Edition. 


551 The Yellow Mask 10 

583 Fallen Leaves 20 

654 Poor Miss Fincli 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Kobe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life. 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

1856 Say Ho” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer. 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water- Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy. 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman ; or, The Abbaye des Vignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKERS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Xale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBBART.— Ordinary Edition. 


118 Great Expectations 20 

187 David Copperfield 20 

200 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Rudge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes. 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20' 

359 Somebody’s Luggage 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OP “DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn 10 

678 A Dead Heart 10 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved Him Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 20 

921 At War with Herself 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRABY.— Ordinary Edition. 


931 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream 10 

1018 Wife in Name Only 20 

1044 Like No Other Love 10 

1060 A Woman’s War 10 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 10 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

1077 A Gilded Sin....^ 10 

1081 A Bridge of Love 10 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 10 

1099 Wedded and Parted 10 

1107 A Bride From the Sea 10 

1110 A Rose in Thorns 10 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

1122 Redeemed by Love 10 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring 10 

1127 Love’s Warfare 20 

1132 Repented at Leisure 20 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight 20 

1209 Hilda 20 

1218 A Golden Heart 20 

1266 Ingledew House 10 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

1305 Love For a Day; or, Under the Lilacs 10 

1357 The Wife’s Secret 10 

1393 Two Kisses 10 

1460 Between Two Sins 10 

1640 The Cost of Her Love 20 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 20 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms 20 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Arne 10 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 20 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 10 

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

144 The Twin Lieutenants 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy 10 

155 The Count of 'M.onXQ-QviBio {Complete in One Volume). 20 

160 The Black Tulip 10 

167 The Queen's Necklace 20 


TIlj£ SEASrhlij LlBRAltT.—0rdi7ia/ry iSdttm^ 


172 The Chevalier de Maison Rouge 2G 

184 The Countess de Charny 20 

188 Nanon 10 

193 Joseph Balsamo; or, Memoirs of a Physician 20 

194 The Conspirators c 10 

198 Isabel of Bavaria. 10 

201 Catherine Blum 10 

223 Beau Tancrede; or. The Marriage Verdict (small type).,.. 10 
997 Beau Tancrede; or. The Marriage Verdict (large type)..... 20 

228 The Regent’s Daughter 10 

244 The Three Guardsmen 20 

268 The Forty-live Guardsmen 20 

276 The Page of the Duke of Savoy.. 10 

278 Six Years Later; or, Taking the Bastile 20 

283 Twenty Years After 20 

298 Captain Paul 10 

306 Three Strong Men 10 

318 Ingenue 10 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. First half 20 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. Second half. . 20 

342 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (small type) 10 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. II. (large type) 20 

1565, The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. III. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. IV. (large type) 20 

344 Ascanio 10 

608 The Watchmaker 20 

616 The Two Dianas 20 

622 Andree de Taverney 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (1st Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (2d Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (3d Series) 20 

064 Vicomte de Bragelonne (4th Series) 20 

688 Chicot, tlie Jester 20 

849 Doctor Basilius 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of* ‘The 

Mohicans of Paris.*’ Vol. I 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. II. 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “ The 

Mohicans of Paris ” Vol. III. 2(^ 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


i452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of ‘‘The 

Mohicans of Paris/' Yol. lY 20 

2452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris/' Yol. Y 20 

1561 The Corsican Brothers 10 

1592 Marguerite de Yalois. An Historical Romance 20 

F. DU BOISGOBEY S WORKS. 

709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part 1 20 

709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part II 20 

1062 The Severed Hand (La Main Coupee) 20 

1123 The Crime of the Opera House. First half 20 

1123 The Crime of the Opera House. Second half 20 

1142 The Golden Tress 20 

1225 The Mystery of an Omnibus 20 

1241 The Matapan Affair. First half 20 

1241 The Matapan Affair. Second half 20 

1307 The Robbery of the Orphans; or, Jean Tourniol’s Inherit- 
ance 20 

1356 The Golden Pig (Le Cochon d’Or). Part 1 20 

1356 The Golden Pig. Part II 20 

1432 His Great Revenge. First half 20 

1432 His Great Revenge. Second half 20 

1465 The Privateersman’s Legacy. First half 20 

1465 The Privateersman's Legacy. Second half 20 

£481 The Ferry-boat (Le Bac) 20 

1534 Satan’s Coach (L’Equipage du Diable). First half 20 

1534 Satan’s Coach (L’Equipage du Diable). Second half 20 

1550 The Ace of Hearts (L’As de Coeur). First half 20 

1550 The Ace of Hearts (L'As de Coeur). Second half 20 

lQ02 Marie-Rose: or, The Mystery. First half 20 

1602 Marie- Rose; or, The Mystery. Second half 20 

1717 Sealed Lips 20 

1742 The Coral Pin 30 

1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. First half 20 

1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. Second half 20 

1799 The Steel Necklace 20 

1800 Bertha’s Secret. First half 20 

1800 Bertha’s Secret. Second half 20 

1841 Mermdol 20 

1842 The Iron Mask. First half 20 


iHJiJ SEASIDE LIBRAUT. — Ordinary Emtton, 

^ . , . ■ , — .. . , 

3842 The Iron Mask. Second half 2<ii 

1874 Piedouche, a French Detective 20 

1885 The Sculptor’s Daughter. First half. . . 20 

1885 The Sculptor’s Daughter. Second half 20 

1886 Zenobie Capitaine. First half 20 

1886 Zenobie Capitaine. Second half 20 

1925 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. First half • . . . 20 

ExMILE GABORIAU’S WORKS. 

408 File No. 113 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. First half 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. Second half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. First half ... 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. Second half 20 

490 Marriage at a Venture 10 

494 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

501 Other People’s Money ............ 20 

509 Within an Inch of His Life 20 

515 The Widow Lerouge 20 

523 The Clique of Gold 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part 1 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part II 20 

704 Captain Contanceau; or, The Volunteers of 1792 10 

741 The Downward Path; or. A House Built on Sand (La De- 
grin gol ad e). Part 1 20 

741 The Downward Path; or, A House Built on Sand (La De- 

gringolade). Part II 20 

758 The Little Old Man of the Batignolles 10 

778 The Men of the Bureau 10 

789 Promises of Marriage 10 

813 The 13tli Hussars 10 

834 A Thousand Francs Reward 10 

899 Max’s Marriage; or, The Vicomte’s Choice. 10 

1184 The Marquise de Brinvilliers 20 

MARY CECIL HAY’S WORKS. 

8 The Arundel Motto 10 

407 The Arundel Motto (in large type) 20 

9 Old Myddelton’s Money 10 

427 Old Myddelton’s Money (in large type) 20 

17 Hidden Perils .... ,10 


THE SEASIDE LIBBARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


434 Hidden Perils (in large type) 30 

23 The Squire’s Legacy 10 

516 The Squire’s Legacy (in large type) 30 

27 Victor and Vanquished 20 

29 Nora’s Love Test 10 

421 Nora’s Love Test (in large type) 30 

275 A Shadow on the Threshold 10 

363 Reaping the Whirlwind 10 

384 Back to the Old Home 10 

415 A Dark Inheritance 10 

440 The Sorrow of a Secret, and Lady Carmichael’s Will 10 

686 Brenda Yorke 10 

724 For Her Dear Sake 20 

852 Missing 10 

855 Dolf s Big Brother 10 

930 In the Holidays, and The Name Cut on a Gate 10 

935 Under Life’s Key, and Other Stories 30 

972 Into the Shade, and Other Stories 20 

toil My First Offer 10 

1014 Told in New England, and Other Tales. 10 

1016 At the Seaside; or, A Sister’s Sacrifice 10 

1220 Dorothy’s Venture. 30 

1221 Among the Ruins, and Other Stories 10 

1431 “ A Little Aversion ” 10 

1549 Bid Me Discourse 10 

CHARLES LEVER’S WORKS. 

98 Harry Lorrequer 20 

132 Jack Hinton, the Guardsman 30 

137 A Rent in a Cloud 10 

146 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon (Triple Number) 30 

152 Arthur O’Leary 20 

168 Con Cregan 20 

169 St. Patrick’s Eve 10 

174 Kate O’Donoghue 30 

257 That Boy of Norcott’s 10 

296 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” First half 20 

296 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second half 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. First half 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. Second half 20 

464 Gerald Fitzsrerald 20 


THE 


New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AMERICAN HOME MA&AZINE. 

Price 25 Cents per Copy. Subscription Price $2.50 per Year. 


The New York Fashion Bazar is a magazine for ladies. It contains 
everything which a lady’s magazine ought to contain. The fashions in dress 
which it publishes are new and reliable. Particular attention is devoted to 
fashions for children of. all ages. Its plates and descriptions will assist every 
lady in the preparation of her wardrobe, both in making new dresses and re- 
modeling old ones. The fashions are derived from the best houses and are 
always practical as well as new and tasteful. 

Every lady reader of The New York Fashion Bazar can make her own 
dresses with the aid of Munro’s Bazar Patterns. These are carefully cut to 
measure and pinned into the perfect semblance of the garment. They are use- 
ful in altering old as well as in making new clothing. 

The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of the magazine. 
Fancy work is carefully described and illustrated, and new patterns given in 
every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home informa- 
tion, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes for cooking have 
each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duchess,” author 
of “Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comport, Charlotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex, McVeigh Miller, Mary E. Bryan, author of 
“Manch,” and Florence A. Warden, author of “The House on the Marsh.” 

The stories published in The New York Fashion Bazar are the best that 
can be had. 

We employ no canvassers to solicit subscriptions for The New York Fashion 
Bazar. All persons representing themselves as such are swindlers. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is for sale by all newsdealers, price 25 cents 
per copy. Subscription price ^2.50 per year. Address 


O. 


Box 


3751. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

17 to 27 Vanclewater Street, N. Y. 


THE CELEBRATED 



GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT PIANOS, i 



ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPUEAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. it . 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 


The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 


They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicians 
and critics. 


FROM THE 
NERVE -GIVING 
PRINCIPLES OF 
THE OX-BRAIN 
AND THE GERM 
OF THE WHEAT 
AND OAT. 

BRAIN AND NERVE FOOD. 

VITALIZED PHOSPHITES 

Is a standard with all Physicians who treat 
nervous or mental disorders. It builds up 
worn out nerves, banishes sleeplessness, 
neuralsria and sick headache. It promotes 
good digestion. It restores the energy lost 
by nervousness, debility, or over-exhaust- 
ion ; regenerates weakened vital powers. 


“ It amplifies bodily and mental power (o 
the present generation, and proves the sur- 
vival of the fittest to the next.”— Bismarck. 


“ It strengthens nervous power. It is the 
only medical relief I have ever known for 
an over- worked brain.” — Gladstone. 


“ I really urge jmn to put it to the test.”— 
Miss Emily Faithful: 

F, CROSBY C0„ 56 W. 25th St., N. Y. 

For sale by Druggists, or by mail $1. 


Tk New York FasMoj Bazar. 


The Best American Home Magazine. 


The New York Fashion Bazar contains 
everything which a lady’s magazine ought 
to contain. Particular attention is devoted 
to fashions for children of all ages. Its 
plates and descriptions will assist every 
lady in the preparation of her wardrobe, 
both in making new dresses and remodeling 
old ones. 

The stories published in The New York 
Fashion Bazar are the best that can be had. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary 
Cecil Hay, “The Duchess,” author of 
“Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comport, 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author of “ Dora , 
Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, 1 
Mary E. Bryan, author of “Manch,” and ^ 
Florence A. Warden, author of “ The i 
House on the Marsh.” I 

We employ no canvassers to solicit sub- j 
scriptions for The New York Fashion ; 
Bazar. All persons representing them- i 
selves as such are swindlers. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is for sale 
by all newsdealers. Price 25 cents per copy. 
Subscription price $2.50 per year. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 











J 





nnnn^ 






^Pf^.nr 


I^r -A rs ^ rs ^ r>, ^ 


r^/yn 


r^rr'^f 























fpy 










































BB 


1 liriigSTiWrTWi 





